Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daniel’s scent lingers, still clinging to Louis’ fingertips when he reaches up to hover them over the bridge of his nose, not touching, not quite. Just a gesture, to collect himself after the calls for a car, and to his agent for a flight, the memory of a headache a promise within the frayed edges of reality that was a dream and then a castle reduced to rubble, and which seems surreal now.

The scent is pleasant enough, a bitter note to it  - the adrenaline - and some more undefinable nuance of the cells breaking down in Daniel’s body due to his age and sickness. He tries to envision them, the smallest dancing molecules, drifting through the air, hitting other traces of scents, being pulled in by the quiet, and even breath he draws, in, and out, in, and out.

This close, he cannot quite see the shape of his fingertips, the skin a blur even to his vampire eyes. He could focus them, could find the sharpness, the clarity, but the blurriness seems comforting and warm, something to hold onto, like a veil.

A veil.

He closes his eyes, puts the tip of his middle finger to the top of his nose, between the eyebrows. Not now. The hairs of his brows tickle the tip of his ring finger, and his breath puffs against his own palm, somewhat cool, he hasn’t fed.

Two rooms over, he hears Armand get up, slowly.

The stench of burnt electronics is like a snake in the air, slithering and mixing with the dust of broken walls and fallen down books. What would these books hold that he does not know of if he looked?

Does he want to look?

The bedroom seems weirdly foreign, not something he slept in for… how long? He drops his hand, lifts his face to the ceiling, to stare at it, unseeing.

In the next room Daniel is collecting his notes, quiet, reading the room - the rooms - well. His thoughts are another matter: glee, vicious satisfaction, wonder, some annoyance at the laptop being gone, some relief to have saved the files automatically to the cloud.

Ah yes, the cloud. He probably needs to look into that. Maybe.

In the living room Armand is picking up the pages of the trial script, one by one.

Louis’ fingertips twitch. He’s not sure what he wants to do, actually. A part of him knows he will want these. Another, currently much bigger part is aware that he cannot stand the sight of Armand at this point of time. A thought would be enough, a simple thought, just one little vulnerability within the pages and only ash would remain.

For some reason he knows Armand won’t dare.

Will obey him, acquiesce, one final time.

Daniel’s heartbeat picks up a beat, a fast drum now. More adrenaline, changing the faint scent that wafts over. Armand’s heartbeat, in the next room, right next to Daniel’s more squishy, softer one.

Daniel’s voice, saturated with disbelief, quivering with a defiance that is almost successfully hiding the fear. “Bringing me the blade that felled you?”

Louis frowns. There is no answer, no footsteps, just the whisper of cloth, and the soft click of the front door, only a moment later. And the rustling of papers, being shuffled together, after a moment.

And then the click, of them being put away in a briefcase.

Steps, towards the bedroom.

“End of an era.”

Louis blinks, slowly, lowering his gaze again, to look at the bars surrounding the room, the whips and toys that had their own place in their relationship.

The black satin, and the Judas’ kiss painting, on the wall.

The lance of pain is vicious, and immediate, sudden, and unanticipated.

Louis gasps, bending forward, pressing a shaking hand to his stomach.

He licks his lips, and then forces himself to reply. “Yes. End of an era.”

Daniel’s voice is deliberately light, but it grates. “Quite the playground you got here.”

Louis’ lip twitches, sharp words like acid on his tongue, wanting to spill. What do you know, Daniel? What do you, you of all people… know? What do you remember? How do you dare to… judge?

Louis swallows them down, and then turns to Daniel, looking at him. “All relationships work differently. Need… different things.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Uh huh.” He shrugs, and then nods at the library. “Gathered my things.” A beat. “Good luck, Louis.”

Louis smiles, very faintly. “What will you do now, Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel smirks at him. “Write a book?” ‘And find Lestat’

Louis blinks, listening to his thoughts, suppressing a shiver. “Be careful.”

Daniel narrows his eyes, turning towards the door with his briefcase, obviously reading Louis’ tone well. “Would you advise me not to?”

Louis smiles, a small, real smile, looking back up to the ceiling. “To … write the book?”

A pause. Then Daniel’s dry voice. “Yeah. That.”

Louis smirks. “Just make sure you get the… details right. Keep… an open mind.”

“Right.” Louis can feel the gaze.

He inhales, before he lowers his gaze, staring straight ahead. “Goodbye, Daniel.”

He can sense Daniel nod, and then look away. “Goodbye, Louis.”

The scent of Daniel lingers, long after the front door has fallen closed behind him.

Long after the sun has risen.

Long after Louis packed his own suitcase, ordered a lift for his trunk, and entered the elevator, his heart in his throat.

And an old, crumpled letter in his hand.

******

‘A veil will now forever separate our union.

But it is a thin veil and I am always on the other side, face pressed up against your longing.’

Louis snorts, pressing the crumpled paper in his fist up against his forehead. He mumbles, emphasizing heavily. “Face pressed up against your longing…”

“Sir?”

He shakes his head, and then straightens up in his seat, with a sigh, offering a small smile to the stewardess. “Nothing. Just…” He presses his lips together, and then takes the paper from his fist, trying to flatten it out on the small table in front of him. “Just something at once sincere and impertinent.” He snorts, adding, with a nod. “So, nothing new, actually.”

The stewardess, Svenya, her name is Svenya Louis suddenly remembers, smiles, and then raises her eyebrows. “Would you like to have some of your private wine, Mr. De Pointe Du Lac?”

Louis hesitates, taken aback by the way she says the name, and then really looks up at her, taking her in. Young, strawberry blonde hair, with highlights. Blue eyes. He has a sudden flash of memory of Armand’s expression when he had chosen her from the pile of applications, the tension in the corner of Armand’s eyes and mouth, for just a moment. Just the tiniest moment.

He swallows, averting his eyes again. “Yes. Please bring the bottle. What’s our ETA?”

“3 hours and 25 minutes till London. ETA is 7:10pm local time. Refueling should take just over half an hour. We should be able to make our departure slot at 8pm without any trouble.”

He nods, shooting her a thankful smile. “Very good. Thank you, Svenya.”

He watches her walk away, towards the small pantry of the plane, the lush sound of her heart thrumming happily. Calling to him. The hunger roars, for a long moment, and he suppresses it, with practice, waits until he can breathe again, before reaching for the letter, folding it and pushing it back into the envelope, slowly.

The envelope’s edges are smudged, evidence of decades of tracing them, gently, over and over.

He puts it away, with a sigh, just as Svenya returns, opening the bottle carefully, with sure, practiced movements. There is no change in her expression as he pours a glass of blood for him, no actual thought about consistency or color in her mind either.

Louis blinks, slowly, wondering at the ability of humans to suspend disbelief, intentionally. Svenya is 36, a seasoned stewardess, coming with the best recommendations, her experience gathered almost exclusively in the first and business classes of international airlines, and private shuttles. Always attentive, never nosy, her knowledge of him restricted solely to need-to-know basis and rewarded rather royally, too.

He wonders what it would take for her to actually take an interest in him outside the job.

To see… and believe.

His teeth pulse, for a moment, wanting to drop. Wanting to bite.

He smiles at her instead, taking the glass from her, the first sip an explosion of taste. Honey, laughter, a life lived. Iron, some vitamin D deficiency. “Mhhh.” A sigh he cannot stop escaping, his body absurdly happy to receive proper nourishment, not artificial, not animal. “Thank you.”

He waits until she puts the bottle down, and then drifts away, busying herself cleaning the pantry that does not, indeed, need cleaning. Leaving him alone, to muse, to drift.

To breathe.

Louis lets his head drop back, the weight of the blood-filled wine glass in his hand, and imagines.

******

Svenya’s shadow falls over him, blocking the plane’s lights, her perfume saturated with the spice of adrenaline from the flight. “Mr. De Pointe Du Lac, welcome in New Orleans. Would you like me to get you a private limousine?”

Louis blinks, slowly, watching the rain whip at the plane’s windows. It’s been a rough ride in parts, some changes in the route necessary, too. Heavy winds, a hurricane incoming. The bottle had been long empty when it had fallen and smashed on the floor, the glass shards glittering like emeralds.

“I take it we’re grounded for a while?” The corners of his mouth twitch, his stomach flipping, just a bit. What is it that amuses him? It must be the fatality of it all, the inevitability.

Svenya’s tone carries a hint of apology. “Yes, unfortunately, Sir. There is a hurricane incoming. We have been instructed to bring the plane into the hangars and evacuate the city.”

Louis nods, getting up with a sigh. “You do that. I’ll… stay.” He winks at her, and then turns towards the exit, watching the pilots look up at him from beyond the opened cockpit door.

He nods at them. “Thank you for keeping the flight as calm as was possible in these circumstances. Please take a few days off and then return to standby as soon as the hurricane has passed.”

Henry, the freckled red-haired pilot exchanges a look with Naomi, whose dark eyebrow quirks, before she turns to scribble some notes into the log. “Our pleasure, Mr. De Pointe Du Lac. We hope you will have a pleasant stay as well.”

There is a question mark somewhere attached to the polite statement, but Louis ignores it, reaching up to his suitcase with a click of his tongue. “Thank you. Please have my trunk delivered as instructed.”

He opens the exit door himself, with one hand, the weight of the gazes of all three mortals following the motions of his hand. He wonders what they see when they follow the effortless movements, the way he does not have to make his body lean into it to open the steel door, push it down to extend as steps.

Moist air whips in, shattering the thought, to a thousand pieces.

Behind him Svenya gasps and steps back, but Louis opens his mouth and breathes in, gulps the air down in deep breaths, the scent of water, and ozone, and salt, and flowers, and kerosene exploding in his nose, on his skin, on his tongue.

New Orleans. Steel and stone, and wood. Banana trees and wisteria, flowers blossoming and falling to the streets. Salt and dirt and beating hearts, music and decay. The impression of time and timelessness, and lacquer, peeling off of rusty railings.

“I’m out on the Crescent coast, floating past your village, when I hear music playing, and the shadows of men and women dancing by the water's edge. I disembarked for the music, but then there was the food.”

Louis gasps, his eyes blurring in red, blinking rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

Behind him, Svenya is pulling out an umbrella, offering it to Louis. “At least the rain is warm, Sir.”

Lestat whispers, in his mind: The silky warmth of summer rain…

Desperately fragile. Louis’ Adam’s apple bops as he swallows. Desperately alive.

He starts down the stairs, the umbrella forgotten, the dark asphalt of the wet runway sparkling with the flashing lights of the plane and distant lightning. The thunder is far away still, inconsequential. A small thunderstorm, a tease, a breath, before the main event.

Private hangar, private controls. Small side exit. How easy it is, these days.

There is a lone cab, waiting, the driver nodding his head in the beats of a song.

Louis looks up, watches the gray clouds chase across the dark night sky and then turns towards it.

******

He lowers the window, halfway across the bridge.

And he breathes in, deeply, feeling as if it is the very first time.

******

There is this feeling again, in his limbs, in his head. In the pit of his stomach. Liquid churning, like his soul, reaching. He’s near. He’s sure of it. How could he ever doubt it??

How did I not know, then?

The clean linen is cool under his cheek, turning red, slowly, while he weeps, with relief.

******

“I spilled red wine on the bed last night, my apologies.”

The clerk blinks up at him. “Absolutely no problem, Mr. Du Lac.” He chuckles. “We’re throwing it all together for now anyways, you’re our only guest.”

Louis smiles politely, while he turns his new name over in his mouth, on his tongue.

It seems weird to not say the “de Pointe”. Weird and… freeing. The past is the past, isn’t it.

For a moment, his throat is closed off, heels of his feet aching with a white hot flare. He blinks, dismissing it with an inhale, shoving the pain to the back of his mind. I have to move forward, sister.

Lestat’s words, echoed by her. Sister, daughter, infant death.

He clears his throat. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The clerk pushes the glasses up his nose. “No, Mr. Du Lac. The hotel is staffed on a skeletal crew only but it is staffed. Only the restaurant is closed, I’m afraid.”

Louis waves his hand. “That won’t be a problem, I’ll find something.” Doubt flickers through the clerk’s mind, but Louis smirks to himself only, nodding at the leaflets that are out on the counter, advertising tours. “Anythin’ with the quarter still runnin’?” He blinks, realizing he’s fallen into the old accent, just a bit, the feeling at once weird and familiar, and a punch to the stomach.

“Uhhhh…” The clerk tilts his head to stare at the leaflets, wincing a bit. “I’m doubtful, Sir. If anything then you might the Crime Dawg still out and about, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

Louis chuckles, something within unclenching. “Crime Dawg?”

The clerk shrugs. “Yes. A gentleman whose walking stick howls. He does tours of the quarter, spinning the crime stories for tourists. He loves doing Rue Royale because of the sordid history there.”

“Oh?” A flutter back in his stomach. Rue Royale… home. History. Family. Pain, for a long moment. He breathes through it.

“Yes, Sir. 80 years ago Rue Royale 1132 was place of a brutal massacre, which was only the end of long rumors pertaining to that townhouse.” The clerk hesitates, and then clicks his tongue. “But I don’t want to spoil the tale for you, Sir, if you’re interested in hearing it from the aforementioned tour guide.”

Louis hums, and then pushes back from the counter. “And where do I find this gentleman?”

The clerk bends over, picking up a leaflet, which he holds out to Louis. “If he still does the tour in the approaching storm: 9pm at Lafayette Street, Saint Charles. You cannot miss him.”

Louis takes the leaflet, with a bit of a wry smile, looking down at the picture of the feather-adorned speaker-staff. “Perfect.”

******

The group is a mixed one, just a few people, some in rain coats, some just in shirts, colorful and fancy. ‘Crime Dawg’ is pulling them along, enthusiastically, the light wind promising to be rather intense soon not deterring him in the slightest.

Louis doesn’t look too close at the park, at the benches. He can sense “their” bench still there, there, there, he could walk over and touch the wood, feel the echo of the past. Their echo.

Times change. We do not.

He shoves his fists into his jacket, glad he opted for a nondescript youthful outfit today. No-one really looks at him, he’s a ghost in his own story.

Crime Dawg’s story is just loud enough, creating vivid images in the tourist’s heads.

“They used to put heads of slaves onto them iron gates, can you imagine? They jus’ cut them off and…”

Louis tunes him out. He can hear the rustle of the paper as Lestat had put it down, a bit annoyed, more than a bit willfully ignorant. Louis pulls a face, retracing the thought. No, while Lestat had been willfully ignorant at times that specific instance of discord had only been one because Louis had sent him a volley. The frown deepens. He’d had done that a lot, then. Had tried to make Lestat feel like he felt. Had tried to… make him suffer. As he had suffered.

You promised me freedom.

And then you didn’t free me.

Unspoken words, chewed on for decades. He knows now that Lestat’s gift - the Dark Gift - could not possibly have done what he had wanted it to do. He knows that, now. Back then though… back then the disappointment had been stifling. Like acid, corroding what they had, slowly, inevitably.

He had hated himself for feeling that way.

He had hated himself for loving the blood.

He had hated himself for needing Lestat.

Need.

Such a simple, short word. He walks after the group of mortals, follows the siren call of their blood unseeing. That, also a need, but a sedate one these days. Back then, back then the hunger had been a roaring, clawing beast, only sated with the kill, or by indulging in the liquid honey that was Lestat’s blood. Light made liquid, somehow even more addictive because of the feelings that came with it.

Oh, the feelings. The first time that breach had opened, there in that first night, that night that changed everything. A soul, a fiery soul, blinding light, touching his own. Love, not held back, no, always full in, always offering everything. He had wanted to drown in it.

Eternal rapture, promised, given, fulfilled.

Their bodies, fusing, again and again, in that bed, until the sun came up.

He had been barely able to walk, weak, his whole body thrumming.

Lestat had kissed him, the taste metallic, sending light and strength into his veins, into the very core of his being.

The next time he had brought Paul to St. Augustine’s the guilt had eaten him alive.

Sunday came, and the holy communion.

This is my body, this is my blood.

The wine had tasted like vomit, the sacrament like ash, his body hungering for Lestat’s kiss and touch. He had returned, like the moth to the flame, again and again.

Hunger, guilt, bliss.

Heaven help me.

The priests had been by for Grace’s wedding. Talks about the sermon to be given. High praise of Grace’s supposed chastity, a hidden glance between her and Louis.

“It is easy to combine freedom and chastity, in the person you love and marry.” Grace’s words in response, not meant in any ill will, he is sure of it, but it had sent a pang through his heart. A need so profound it took his breath had made him mute.

Father Mathias’ smile, drawing a searing line through his soul. “The holy union, forged before the altar, under the eyes of the Lord.”

Louis had gotten up, and went to his room, ignoring his soul’s screaming.

A hundred and 8 years ago.

Louis blinks, returning to the present as the group crosses Common Street. The traffic is almost non-existent, the shops closed up. Crime Dawg crosses, rather unhurriedly, waving his stick.

Royal Street. Rue Royale.

They’re a while yet from ‘Rue Royale 1132’, and apparently taking a detour to go back down it from the other side, but Louis shivers, averting his gaze for a moment, watching the tip of his shoes instead.

In all the years he never returned here.

They were in New York, Chicago, Miami, San Francisco, Phoenix. Toronto. Paris. London. Moscow. Tokyo. So many cities. Dubai.

But never here.

Here, where he lived, for roughly 60 years.

It seems so far away now. The flashes of his mortal life seem pale and yet vibrant with meaning. Kisses behind the garden shed, his heart beating in his throat. The desperation at his father’s death and the subsequent struggles to find business, any kind of business, his life an ever hardening shell, as much armor as it was a prison. The grim satisfaction of making it, despite all odds. The disapproving eye of his mother, more interested in the status than the actual details.

Stints out of town, getting drunk, finding someone to still the hunger with.

Miss Lilly’s dark gaze, seeing right through him.

And then… him. Him.

The longing is instant, electric, tickling along his tongue. He wants. That taste, the taste of him, mixing with his own. Fleeting, elusive. Addictive.

His stomach flips.

The tour has moved on a bit, and he picks up his pace to walk up to them, exhaling in a rush. He booked the tour to have an excuse to walk back… home. Of course.

Of course, of course, of course.

He could have just gone home. Walk up the stairs, unlock the door.

Walk in and… what?

His heart picks up, refusing to imagine. Why is he here? To find him, of course.

And… why is he taking the tour?

Louis presses his lips together, until they hurt, making himself finish the thought.

In case Lestat isn’t actually there… of course.

Plausible deniability.

He scoffs, one of the tourists shooting him a weird look. He shakes his head with a small smile, and the man in the gaudy print shirt frowns, before turning back to the Crime Dawg, who is going on about missing maids now.

Louis swallows, bracing himself, with a sigh. Claudia’s murder sprees were not exactly little or careful. He quirks an eyebrow, remembering how he refused to consider her being the killer she was. How he ignored her sadistic tendencies. How he ignored her problems, too.

Claudia. Running down the stairs, and dancing around the parlor.

He smiles suddenly, blinking the tears away.

He cannot regret her. He refuses to.

And if he cannot regret her…?

Crime Dawg’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts once more, a level of excitement in it that makes his own spike as well. “Now, everybody, if you want to turn your attention to the right, at them bit green pearly gates, this is 1132 Royal Street, home of the most infamous party ever thrown in New Orleans.”

Louis almost snorts. While their departure… party certainly left an impression he sincerely doubts it was the most infamous party thrown in this city. It was in the newspapers for weeks, yes… and then business returned to normal, and people turned to new crimes to write about. He knows. He kept track. He kept the newspaper clippings, too. He blinks, wondering if they fell down in the library as well. If the staff has cleaned them up as well. Has put them into the correct folder.

Or… did the Talamasca come to his apartment for intelligence? Would they dare?

Crime Dawg’s voice draws him in again, voice lowered dramatically. “This is where two dozen members of high society, they walked in them doors right there.” A pause. “Ain't nobody ever seen them again.”

Louis clears his throat quietly. Nobody would have wanted to see those members of society after they were done with them, that’s for sure. For a moment, he can feel the weight of the jaw in his hand, taste the sour-metallic tint of fear and adrenaline on his tongue. The memory of satisfaction burns through his veins, just for an instant. He quietly clears his throat, swallows down the spit that gathers. Not a good idea to let the appetite rise while out with a couple of humans.

He quirks an eyebrow, looking down at his feet for a moment, before he looks back at Crime Dawg.

“Take a picture if you need to. The year is 1940. The man that owned this townhome and that year's King of Raj went by the name Sebastian Melmoth.”

Louis narrows his eyes, with a frown. Sebastian… Melmoth? Oscar Wilde’s alias?? Louis stares at Crime Dawg, his thoughts at once racing and arrested. Why is this name connected to their old house? Did Lestat use it in correspondence? Legal documents? Did he use it for the party?

Louis presses his lips together. He cannot be sure, so much of the weeks leading up to the Mardi Gras party are a blur, his memory patchy, torn between Claudia and Lestat and caught in the imminent departure, either way, and the gruesome secret he carried…

“Now, now, history's going have him go down as a little somethin' different.” Louis almost snorts. “A Monsieur Lesander Lioncourt.” Crime Dawg raises his fingers for quote marks. “He was a so-called Frenchman.”

There is a smile now on Louis’ lips, a smile he cannot help. So-called Frenchman. He tries to envision Lestat’s face if he would be called such, and fails, something in his gut relaxing, mirth bubbling up.

He had dreaded coming here, had dreaded it so much, and now…

“A so-called seller of industrial machinery.”

Louis blinks, remembering, mouth twitching to hide his smile, rather futilely. His own words are echoing in his mind: ‘We sell incinerators.’ Lestat, immediately catching on, with a smirk and humor dripping from his lips: ‘To various American cities.’

“But now tell me, tell the Crime Dawg, why would a man, a known hoarder and an infamous recluse, be named King of Raj in the first place?”

A pang of pain again, at the words.

It wasn’t Lestat who was the recluse, not really. It wasn’t Lestat who was the hoarder, either.

Lestat just stayed. With Louis, who stayed in place for her. For years. Until they were both worn thin, and tore into the other, regularly. For sports. For entertainment. To feel something.

Louis swallows.

Crime Dawg knocks his howling staff to the ground, prompting the listeners to ask him, and Louis asks in chorus with the group, amusement at the antics overriding the melancholy. “Why, Crime Dawg?”

“Sebastian knew a fella by the name of Tom Anderson. He was a former Louisiana State Representative, ” Louis lowers his gaze, with a little nod. “and a full-time Bourbon Street gangster.”

Ba dum.

The sound of a vampire heart shifts his focus, the sudden presence off to the side an instant draw to his attention. He’s not used to other vampires. Of course they have encountered some over the years. But on their travels the other vampires around were usually fleeing from Armand - or hunted down. This, this careless attitude of a relatively young vampire just leaning against a lamp post and not bothering to notice him… this is unexpected.

The vampire is a fledgling still, only a few years old, ‘a few steps down the Devil’s road’, Louis blinks, dislodging the memory of Lestat’s voice. Modern clothes, modern behavior. No cares in the world.

He truly does not seem to notice Louis, something that is both interesting and amusing to him.

Crime Dawg’s voice draws him back, makes him refocus. “Mr. Melmoth, he wasn't alone in 1132. Also, in residence was a local Creole hustler and his little child bride, they were running a voodoo cult in the back rooms above the courtyard garden.”

Child bride. Not quite. There is a jab of pain, there and gone again, the amusement prevailing, though he purses his lips, forcing the smile. The voodoo cult they were accused of, and which finally drove them from New Orleans. Yes. Bibles, dolls, salt circles. Lestat’s wild eyes, showing something Louis had not seen before: fear.

It sends a shiver down his spine, even now. He lowers his eyes, but smiles about it, defiantly. 

“Yes, they were.” No, we weren’t. We just had… tricks. He lifts his hand, uses it to recollect himself. “Now, it's Mardi Gras, 1940. Mr. Melmoth and Tom Anderson, they brought back the who's who of who dat.”

The fledgling’s heart picks up, and Louis looks over again, seeing him rush at a box with rats, totally carelessly displaying his powers, carelessly not looking.

The smile on his lips carries melancholy now, the thought not without amusement of its own. Lestat would have had my hide if I’d done that. Whenever Claudia had done this there had been a shouting match after.

“The next morning, couldn't nobody find head or hairpiece of none of 'em. What did they find? Blood in between the floorboards of three different rooms, bits of indeterminate pieces of bone inside the factory-sized incinerator.”

Yes, we cleaned up very carefully. The incinerator ran the whole night. Another pang of pain, the memory of what else happened. Memory of her throat, under his hands, when he refused. He clears his throat, watching the fledgling stuff the rats into his backpack.

A vampire on a rat diet, in New Orleans. It’s not the fledgling, he smells of human blood.

He runs the tip of his tongue over his teeth, feeling the little hairs between them for an instant. Disgusting to remember it now. His mind flashes back to the fox he ate, only a short while ago. A point being made only, that fox. Something to try to shock Daniel and himself into remembering.

And now…? Would he eat it now?

“Why did Tom Anderson, Mr. Melmoth, the hustler and the child bride lure these particular citizens to this house of lies and intrigue?”

The vampire hurries down a small side street, and Louis blinks, torn between wanting to stay and listen, and going after him, for just a moment too long.

A blink, and the vampire heart is silent, not strong enough, too young to be heard over a long distance.

Louis works his jaw for a long moment, and then refocuses on Crime Dawg again, who watches them with a twinkle in his eyes. There is no answer he can give to his own question, and none Louis would care to hear, not really.

Though the assessment was quite astute, wasn’t it.

House of lies and intrigue.

They lived in that, for the last years, didn’t they.

Claudia had thought Lestat was the ‘father of lies’… she had thought he kept her from knowledge intentionally. What would she think about it all now? Would she hate him just the same? Even though it had been Louis who… Would she understand them, now? Would she… forgive them?

Would she forgive him?

Louis swallows, belatedly falling into step as Crime Dawg starts walking again, obviously done with Rue Royale.

Louis makes himself follow the group to the next corner, and then halts, suddenly unable to lift his feet, rooted to the spot. His ankles hurt, the stones in them pulsing.

Over in Rue Royale 1132 one of the residents is fast asleep, snoring.

Louis does not know why or how or when their old home was sold to a mortal.

He does not even know who holds the deeds to it now.

Not Sebastian Melmoth, likely.

He cackles, the sound vaguely manic to his own ears.

It’s not a decision he makes.

It’s a need.

The place where the incinerator had stood is empty, the grass having grown over the patch of blackened earth. He looks up the stairs, knowing the mortal sleeps up there… in their bedroom, but then decides to try the lower back door the sound of the handle being pushed down eerily familiar. 

Different smell, different furniture in the dining room.

Different hallway wall paper.

Different parlor feeling.

Too bright in design, and furniture. A clean style, so very different to what their townhouse was fitted with back then.

And yet.

There is a scratch in the paneling that is almost invisible, but still there, from when they fought.

There is the mantle piece that got a crack. There is a chair, that was obviously kept, and passed down with the house, used but still so very recognizably theirs. The front door looks the same way still from the inside.

He is up the stairs before he can think on it, his feet making no sound. His ankles throb, tied to history and love, fused with pain.

Her room… her room is open, it seems to be a guest room now, kept and prepared. There is a small bathroom that was added to where they had made the secret stowaway for the coffin. He snorts softly, wondering what those who had entered back then must have thought of that hidden stowaway. How long it must have taken them to find it.

There is no trace of her in this room anymore. Maybe some of her wallpaper behind the current one, but he cannot see any traces of it. The floor is polished, and clean.

No odor of death, no decay.

There was always the smell of decay, then.

Body parts, and burning corpses.

It’s a wonder it took so long for the neighbors to try to drive us out, actually.

He lets the tip of his fingers glide over the new curtains, feels the fine cloth glide over his skin. Such a pleasant feeling. Almost like satin. Satin, like their…

Over on the other side of the hallway, across the landing, the mortal sighs in her sleep.

An older woman, her husband out of town for a business trip. She dreams of the vacation they went to, to the sea, over in Florida, visiting in-laws.

The sun, burning on her face, giving her freckles.

Louis closes his eyes, basks in the thoughts for a long moment, before he wanders over, soundlessly opening the door.

The bed is in the same place. A modern bed, yes, but facing the same way, the rest of the room open, no furniture except two armchairs. A quick look to the “coffin room” shows that the couple converted the once hidden room into an open closet, the fact itself making mirth bubble up within Louis. We stayed in the closet it seems… He grins to himself, and then the smile fades again, slowly, while tears rise. He blinks them away, working his jaw to not let them fall.

This room. A haven. A cage. A retreat.

One bed. Their bed. Through the good and the bad times, this room had held their bed.

He can still feel the way the satin bed spread had felt below his back, during their first time, when he had still been mortal. When Lestat had looked like an angel. When Lestat had taken him through the stages of bliss like it had been a trifle. And then looked at him as if he’d found… salvation.

‘Be my companion, Louis.’

A plea.

The plea, more than the promise, more than the arguments, had sealed his fate.

Deep, deep down, beneath the anger, beneath the disappointment, beneath the longing he knows that.

He knows.

A sigh from the bed, and he turns to look at her, the dark hair fanned out over the cotton pillow.

The need to get her out of here, out of their house is sudden, and immediate, making him ravenous, the need to bite making his fangs pulse.

He recoils, shaking his head, stumbling back and falling into one of the armchairs there, breathing heavily. She doesn’t wake, just mumbles something in her sleep, and Louis closes his eyes in relief, trying to regain his control.

But the need is there, like a genie escaped from the bottle, impossible to contain again.

He wants her out. This is their bedroom.

Spit gathers in his mouth, his fangs dropping, against his will. He should have fed before, definitely, her blood a siren call now, calling to him with wet thuds.

He could kill her, make her disappear. Or leave her here, for her husband to find. But that would, while most certainly make the husband move out eventually, only lock the house down as a crime scene for the foreseeable future. Make Crime Dawg add another not-quite-correct story to his tales.

No. Not death then.

He swallows, forcing the hunger down, before he gets up to walk over, placing a hand on her head. Compulsion is not one of his best skills, but he has it, of course. ‘Spells’ as the older vampires call them. He reaches for her dreams of the sea and her in-laws with his mind, focuses on her joy of being there and with them. They always drive by car. Long hours in the car. Wouldn’t it be nice if the journey was shorter? The hurricanes are not an argument either, are they, there is a hurricane coming to New Orleans now, Florida is not so different, right? And she is not getting younger, the small city where her family lives has a lot of accommodations for older folks. Her husband could work for home now, the company recently offered their employees this opportunity. She could go to the beach for lunch. She could…

He smiles, disconnecting, only listening to the ever mounting dreams and wishes now. Compulsion feeds on the dormant wishes, the dormant dreams, freeing them and then letting them fester, until it is impossible to ignore them.

Maybe he will need to return at some point, to reinforce it, maybe this will be enough. He will know soon.

But this… this will be my bedroom once more.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, admitting, to himself.

Our bedroom.

One day.

Chapter Text

The vampire is back, hunting rats in Rue Royale.

It’s a lot more stormy tonight, the hurricane moving in for real.

He’s fed tonight, early, a smart-ass businessman who crossed his path, still on his phone when Louis had sunk his teeth, had taken the phone and thrown it into the river.

A random victim, and he does not feel much remorse for killing again after decades of refraining, too excited to go back, find that heartbeat again, find that oblivious fledgling.

Why is he hunting rats in Rue Royale only? Is that an… instruction? ‘Rue Royale rats.’

A taste of home?

He swallows, suppressing the hope, viciously.

The vampire is turning off Rue Royale into Dumaine now, heading north, away from the river, into Treme. Louis follows him, from afar, though he doesn’t need to worry, the vampire has his head tucked low, not even shooting looks at the few mortals who are out, hurrying through the Louis Armstrong park, the umbrellas bending with the wind. He does not care for the arguing couple either, just pressing on, obviously bothered by the rain.

Louis inhales, shooting a look up at the stormy clouds.

The rain feels so nice to him, so… familiar. So different from the climate in Dubai.

A wet palm swipes his face and he smiles softly, feeling the moisture mix with the raindrops.

The vampire is slowing down, just a bit, obviously almost at his destination, and Louis rushes forward, hiding in a doorway on the other side of the street to watch, watch for signs, watch for traps, watch for…

Anything.

There is gentle piano music coming from that house.

Deep, deep down Louis knows, before this ignorant little fledgling can even open the door.

He knows.

And his stomach churns.

******

He doesn’t need to ask if Lestat feels him come in.

Lestat’s heartbeat stutters… and then syncs up with his own.

A palpable charge in the air suddenly.

The curt “shut up” to the fledgling is almost funny, as is the short answer when said fledgling enquires who Louis is. “Louis”.

Just… Louis.

It hurts. He does not want to be just… Louis. He is Louis, isn’t he. The Louis. Well, he was. Once upon a time.

“That’s Louis? He’s… Louis?” Incredulity and deprecation in the fledgling’s voice, but he cannot know the relief this brings to Louis. Shameful relief. Relief that makes him keep his lips pressed together, makes him shift his focus to that fledgling. An abyss of feelings, broken up with this simple question. All narrowing down to one simple question, one question that Louis has no idea how to answer: Who do I want to be?

Do I… want to be this Louis again? HIS Louis?

And Lestat’s simple answer, underlining it all, again, anew, once and for all. “Get out.”

Echoes of Lestat’s voice, using similar words for Antoinette. In her house. Louis wonders for a moment, if this is the fledgling’s house. Maybe. What does it matter though. Lestat is here.

The fledgling doesn’t take it as nonchalant though, screaming at Lestat. Louis watches the events, with a weird detachment, watches as Lestat only lifts a finger to set the jacket on fire as a warning. It was never the question that the fledgling would have to leave. He just didn’t quite get the message and Lestat… Lestat has made the priorities clear again. His priorities.

Though the cursing vampire confirms that Lestat is living off of rats now. Rats caught on Rue Royale. A pang through Louis’ chest, again.

Lestat’s voice sounds tired, so very tired. “The fire gift, in your honor.”

Another pang of pain. Louis would have laughed, to dispel it, if he only could. But his throat is closed off, remembering, his memory patchy and still feeling alien, but there is something, something that matches with Lestat’s still healing looking skin, something that makes the tears rise.

Something, something, of what he has forgotten. He wants to ask, but he cannot speak.

Lestat continues, his eyes still glued to his fingertips caressing the worn keys of a piano made out of driftwood, the black keys painted in red. Painted in Lestat’s blood, repainted only recently. He can smell it.  “A wearisome fledgling.” Louis frowns, wondering if the fledgling might be Lestat’s, but dismisses the thought, immediately. No, Lestat would not have turned this… Lestat continues, as if reading his thought. “All the millennials are.”

Ah. A random fledgling vampire then, of the ever multiplying horde. Probably seeking Lestat out for guidance.

Lestat pushes up suddenly, gaze forlorn. “But he is an excellent rat catcher.” Lestat picks up the wooden plank, and slowly turns towards him, slow, careful movements, as if not to spook a ghost. Louis swallows.

There is something in Lestat’s gaze, something that almost is a challenge, almost is a quip. Almost is a tease. “Would you like one?”

Louis swallows again, his throat dry. No he does not fucking want one. But there is no anger in him, no darkness, besides the l… “Hello, Lestat.” He cannot help but smile, hoping that Lestat understands, though the smile drains out of his face again, impossible to uphold the facade.

His stomach flips.

Lestat is watching him, gaze dark, and too tranquil, Louis wants him to shout and scream, but Lestat doesn’t, his response quiet, and collected. “Hello, Louis.”

Hello, Louis.

God. Is that what we are to each other now?

He cannot answer, watching as Lestat’s face portrays the tiniest echo of amusement, while still holding the fake piano across his body, like a shield. “Passing through?”

He shakes his head, softly, before he can think about it. “No.” He says the words, for himself, for Lestat, tries to reach out with the bond that connects them. “I came to see you.” I came to see you. I flew across half the globe to see you. I needed to see you. I needed to know. I…

“Oh.” Lestat’s head tilting to the side. God, Louis knows that tilt. Knows that slight undertone that does, indeed, thread through the next question. “What does your companion say to that?”

Louis blinks, thinking about Armand for a split second, before dismissing him. He is in no mood for Armand. “I’m companion enough for myself now.”

“Mhh.” Lestat stares at him, with that slight twist to the one corner of his mouth, that twist, that marks displeasure. “Good for you.”

Louis narrows his eyes, somewhat irritated, and darkly amused about that, but Lestat averts his gaze, looking up to the ceiling, listening to the banging shutters. “I'm sorry, I don't have much time. I'm in the middle of rehearsing.”

Louis blinks, and then nods, his eyes dropping to the wooden plank. Of course. He is not sure whether he should be amused or annoyed, or… concerned. “Rehearsing?”

Lestat’s answer comes halting, but deadpan, matter of fact, his eyes gliding to the iPad, and back. Avoiding Louis. “I’m going on tour. Argerich, she seems she seems to have retired and I thought,” The tiniest pause, and Lestat visibly bracing himself before he faces Louis again. “Who better than me to carry on the great work.”

Right. Louis nods to himself, trying to hide a smile, while swallowing against his throat closing up.

There’s some humor and a smile on Lestat’s face now, in his voice, scratching at Louis’ composure.  “I just need about 50 more years of practice.” A small inhale. “Siri, pause.”

Silence.

The wind is howling, the shutters rattling.

Louis’ guts flutter, his heart beating a mile an hour. In sync with Lestat’s.

He feels the weight of Lestat’s gaze, his expectant and hooded gaze, like a pull. He licks his lips, tries to find his breath again, find the calm, find some footing, dammit.

Find the words.

He looks away, to the ground, eyes still on the shield Lestat has put up vertically now, between them. He steps closer, carefully. Shapes the words, torn from history. “Did you save my life in Paris?”

Was what Daniel said the truth?

Somewhere, deep inside of him, he wants it to be.

Needs it to be, even.

There is something that breaks in Lestat’s gaze, as he lowers it. And then raises his eyes again, almost defiant.

He licks his lips. “I gave you to Armand.” Pain now, in Louis’ guts, in Lestat’s gaze, the pain of paths not taken, words not said. Of guilt and self-blaming. Lestat the tilt of his head down, imploring, without breaking their gaze. “You tell me if that was saving.”

Oh for fu… “Why didn’t you say…” Louis pauses, trying to pin it down, wishing. “‘It was me who saved you, not him’?”

He breaks off, his heart beating harshly, because he knows, doesn’t he.

He knows, just as Lestat does.

He would not have believed Lestat. Not then.

He would not have been able to look past the pain of her. Would not have been able to recognize the truth of the performance. The twist of the knife.

The betrayal.

There is a shrug to Lestat’s answer, a shrug echoed in the small, painful smile he concludes it with. “I don’t like to point out my virtues.” A wave of his hand, and Louis suddenly notices the wooden plank is up and across Lestat’s waist again, the shield up. Not much across their bond, other than the sheer presence. But his hands… his hands are missing the rings. The rings. Louis swallows, feeling suddenly sick. Their rings. Lestat had always worn them, in memory of Nicolas. As a statement of his bond with Louis. Their marriage.

I kissed Lestat on the altar. Because he went down onto his knees, and asked me.

“Besides…” Lestat shakes his head, just a bit, making Louis refocus, with a blink. “I knew you’d figure it out.” His eyes flicker away, as he pulls the shield up even more. “And look…” Louis sees him raise his chin, can sense the immense cost to overcome the pain that must be choking him, too. “… You have,” Lestat spreads his arms wide, his eyes glinting manically. “I was right…” He turns away, his voice breaking on the last word. “All hail me.”

The wooden plank clatters to the table, haphazardly put away. A rush of feelings, across their bond, and Louis cannot look at him, he has to look away, the Lestat that is turning to face him again seems raw, broken, jagged pieces of who he once was only, and it cuts him to the core. The feelings he suddenly feels are a mess, echoing his own, and he tries to keep some kind of semblance of control, some kind of composure. There is this part of Louis which wants to draw Lestat into an embrace, cover him all-over with kisses. The need to touch is stifling, the desire to press his lips to the apparently still healing skin a tingling that wants, needs, drives.

He refocuses on the house, with an effort, looking around to try to regain some composure, some kind of control. A few steps, anything, the energy is vibrating through him.

Lestat is silent, watching him. Turning with him.

Following his lead.

It loosens something deep within Louis. “Been enduring here?”

“Not enduring.” Lestat’s chin raises, while his hands clasp, in an attempt to hide their shaking. “Living.”

Living. Right. Louis nods to himself, looking around the house. Run down, moss covered house. Drafty walls, moldy corners. Pride is all that’s left. Well, and the designer clothes under the old robe he remembers so well.

“Here in New Orleans the whole time?”

The answer is prompt and thoroughly unsurprising and yet flaying in its simplicity. “It’s my home.” Lestat blinks, with a small frown, and not for the first time his eyes go unfocused just for an instant. “I am she, she is me.”

Louis cannot hold his gaze, he nods, looking away. Right.

I could have…

He forces the thought away, with an effort, staring at the floor between them to find the words.

What can he possibly say to explain? To explain to Lestat the effects the Dark Gift had on him?

The Dark Gift…

Louis pushes the words out, pressing on, lest he lose his nerve. ”I didn't know it was a gift.” Lestat’s head tilts, just a bit, in question, but Louis goes on, holding his gaze now, letting him see the pain. And the guilt. Letting him feel it. ”I wore it like a curse. I was selfish. I…” Bitterness now, on his tongue. “I tried to make nights awful for you.” I fought you, every step of the way, you, the one who was all that I ever wanted.

Lestat seems to shudder. “I see.” He shakes his head, just a bit, lowers it. “I see.”

So much pain, between them, Louis cannot breathe, his voice breaking. “I wanted you to suffer. Because I was suffering.”

There is that head tilt again, a bit abrupt, and then Lestat looks away. “Oh.”

When he looks at Louis again his voice is caustic, filled with pain, and desperation, and something Louis cannot pinpoint, something manic. “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other and why it'll never be right between monstrous…”

Louis watches him, watches him get ever more defensive, the words bursting out of him. “I came to thank you. For the gift you offered me.” He presses his tongue to his teeth for a moment. “For the gift I denied.” He looks away, trying not to cry. “For the nights in front of me,” He looks away again, his voice breaking on the words. “where I might learn to live honestly.”

He presses the words out, the truth in them incredibly hard to shape. “Thank you.”

Lestat stares at him, unblinking, obviously trying to see beyond the words. Obviously trying to find words of his own, and Louis fights to keep the sob in, fights to listen, fights for composure.

Lestat’s voice is inaudible at first, a breath, nothing more, and then gaining strength, intensity. “I… I need to ask you… September 8^th.” A shiver, down Louis’ spine. He knows it shows on his face, because the frown grows deeper on Lestat’s face, as he repeats it, his tone imploring. “September 8^th, 1973.”

Louis presses his lips together, the world blurry. Oh god. That night. That morning.

Lestat continues, and Louis nods to himself, relief and joy and anguish, and brilliant, livid pain rushing through him, in a feedback loop between them. Of course he remembers. Of course. How could I… He blinks, refocusing on Lestat, who presses on. “It was 11:07 here. It would have been 9:07 in San Francisco. Armand called me.” Desperation now, remembered, felt. Louis cannot tell if it is his own or seeping across the bond. “Were you there?”

Searing pain, remembered.

He chokes the word out, has to break their gaze, has to look away. “Yeah.”

Lestat seems close to crying now, his face twisting, the voice a feeble evocation of pain, reincarnated. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Did I… Louis’ face twists, the tears rising. “I was lost.” He can hardly stand the pain in Lestat’s eyes, has to look away again. Anything but Lestat’s gaze. “I was in a dark way and …” And it would have taken only a few more moments. Maybe he can explain, maybe… “I was thinking about…” Her.

He is afraid suddenly, afraid of what Lestat will say, but Lestat only nods, lowering his gaze, his face crumbling.

The pain is stifling, but for once something he can acknowledge, can endure.

Shared.

Lestat lifts his gaze again, breathing heavily.

There is something in his eyes, something that Louis wants to pull into himself. “I can’t… I can’t get her out of my mind.” Shaking of his head, while the world is shifting to red. “You have the same problem?”

Problem, yes. Louis’ face crumbles, the tears threatening to spill, the effort to blink them away enormous, but he needs to see, he needs to… “Yeah.”

Lestat is staring at him, shaking his head, with that wounded gaze, the one that matches his own, the voice breaking. “I can’t Louis. I can’t…”

He cannot help but try to soothe him. “Hey, hey…” He swallows, reaching for the truth deep, deep down, to reconcile. “Hey, it's not on you. You hear me?” He watches as Lestat stares at him, swaying softly. Something about the motion reminds him of the stage, the swaying there. Something…

He dismisses the thought, continuing, trying for imploring. “I carried her home. I made you turn her.” I made you turn her. Despite your warnings. “And saved her from a fire…” Her skin all blackened, and burnt… “…so a half century later she could...” He cannot continue, the pain choking him.

Lestat gasps, the blood tears making his eyes seem glossy, threatening to fall.

His voice is dark, laced with oozing wounds. “She looked at me, at the end…” The tear drops, is absorbed again, there and gone, like her. “…like a child… looking to her father.”

Louis stares at him, face twisted in pain. How often has he imagined what must have happened. How often did he try to piece it together. There is something in him that is viciously glad that Lestat was there. Glad she was not alone. Glad that she…

Lestat continues, gasping the words out, shaking his head. “But I was never…”

Oh god.

It’s not a conscious decision.

He’s just there, moved forward, holding onto Lestat for dear life. Yes you were. And so was I. He squeezes his eyes shut, feels Lestat stumble a bit with the way he pulls him in, feels him shudder and then nestle in, fitting in a way that feels like coming home.

It takes a moment, but it is relief when Lestat embraces him in return, pushes his nose into the crook of Louis’ neck.

He cannot think, he cannot feel, their bond a flaring, open wound, the world reduced to the tactile feeling of Lestat underneath the dirty and faded robe, beneath his hands, in his arms. The body seems thinner than he remembers, smaller somehow, bending into him, aligning, a willow in the approaching storm.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes his nose into dirty, golden hair.

Somewhere underneath, somewhere beyond is the smell he craves. The smell that was his, once upon a time. The smell that mixes with the taste he wants. The taste of them. Blood. Skin. Hair. Breath.

The taste of you and me.

Louis lifts his head, unable not to, and presses kisses along Lestat’s neck, his jaw, his ear, his temple. His cheek.

Lestat’s hands are on his waist, holding him, but his eyes are closed, squeezed shut, the red tracks of tears renewed again, and again.

Louis presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the blood exploding on his tongue. Love, desperation, and hope, punching him into his gut.

He gasps, waiting until Lestat opens his eyes to say the words.

The words the storm swallows up, but he knows Lestat understands, he waits until Lestat understands and accepts, before he pulls him back into their embrace, pushes their hearts together.

“Yes, you were.”

You were.

*******

It’s tranquil here, in the dark.

Lestat’s heart is drumming sedately, underneath his ear, while outside the coffin the world rages.

It’s a heavy coffin, a sarcophagus really, and there really is no risk of it being destroyed or moved by the hurricane.

Louis wonders if Lestat has stolen it, from one of the cemeteries.

He sighs, shifting a bit, staring at the side of the coffin unseeing.

His hand is laid over the ribs of Lestat’s chest, underneath the robe, something he did not intend to do, but something that just happened, almost naturally, when they retreated to the coffin.

When the roof had torn off, and the glass had shattered.

Lestat had blinked, weirdly passive.

Louis had pulled him into the next room by his hand, guessing to find the coffin there, and guessing correctly.

He wonders why they are so quiet.

Earlier, in their reunion, there had been sparks of the Lestat he knew, before.

Sparks of impertinence, and teasing, and challenge. And then: pain.

But Lestat is quiet now, docile, his hands holding Louis as if he were made out of fine china, carefully embracing. Just holding. No quip, no argument. No sob.

Their bond is tranquil, too.

Full of love and longing, yes, but tranquil.

Louis swallows, wanting the fire of it back, the burning light.

A twitch of the hands that hold him.

Louis rubs his thumb into the shirt, feeling the bump of the rib. “Hmm?”

Lestat’s voice is a breath, laced with pain. “September 8^th, 1973…”

Louis frowns, leaning back and pushing his face up to press his lips to Lestat’s jaw. “Yeah?”

There is a click, as Lestat swallows, his voice thick. “Did you… “ Louis waits, with a shiver. “Did you… hurt yourself?”

Louis blinks, and then frowns, something like irritation entering his tranquility. “I told you. I was in a dark place.”

“Oh.” A pause. The sensation of Lestat licking his lips, his heartbeat picking up. “It was 11:07 here.”

Louis exhales, and then pushes up on his right elbow, staring down at Lestat in the darkness. “Armand called you.”

He can smell blood tears.

Lestat’s voice is weirdly toneless. “He cannot hear me. He has injured himself.”

Shivers, down Louis’ spine. He shakes his head. “No, no, love, no. I’m here. I…” He swallows, pressing his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m fine.”

Lestat’s voice takes on a pitch that shudders through Louis. “He doesn’t answer. Armand doesn’t tell him I love him.” A guttural groan. “He doesn’t tell him. He cannot hear it. He cannot hear… He…”

Louis stares at him, in the darkness, his heart thundering. Their hearts are not in sync, both galloping, but Lestat’s is panicked, wild, driven by the nightmarish specter of his own imagination.

Louis shakes his head, puts his left hand onto his chin, trying to make him snap out of it. “No, Lestat, listen.” He lifts his eyebrows, senses Lestat’s wild eyes snap to his in the dark, a shadow wrapped in black velvet. “I am here, Lestat. I am here. I can hear you. I am not injured.” He swallows, stroking the skin under his fingers, feeling the slight stubble. “I am here.”

He can hear Lestat’s throat click, the hands that hold him squeeze tighter for a long moment. “Louis.”

Louis exhales, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns with unease. “Yes. I’m here.”

Lestat turns his head, pushes into Louis, face pressing against Louis’ cheek.

His voice is a whisper. “I asked for banishment. Louis, I asked for banishment. I couldn’t think. My head hurt. The room was spinning. I…”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, pushes his hand into Lestat’s hair, to his neck.

He sniffs. “I know.” I know now.

Lestat draws back, just a bit. “They didn’t know her strength.”

Louis’ face crumbles, and he gasps, before he nods, once. “No, they didn’t.”

Lestat pushes up, on his left arm, just a bit, making Louis shift onto his side. “She’s here, you know.”

Louis stares at him, flabbergasted. “What?”

The click of Lestat’s eyes blinking. “She’s here.” Lestat’s voice drops to a whisper. “Outside. Can’t you hear her, Louis? She’s playing on my piano.”

Tears rise, drop, to Louis’ quivering lips. He cannot speak, only shaking his head.

Lestat goes on, an imploring whisper now, his hands squeezing Louis tightly. “She promised them. She would find a way, Louis.” An exhale, and then Lestat lowers himself, to his side, head coming to rest on his left arm. “I prayed she was with you. I’m so glad she is.”

Louis stares down at him, feeling sick. “Lestat, Claudia is dead. I’m here.”

Lestat chuckles, but it sounds weird, shrill. “Yes, I know, Louis. You hurt yourself. You cannot hear me.”

Louis presses his lips together, trying not to shiver, the freezing realization spreading from his very core.

He tries to stay calm. “Lestat, you can feel me. I’m here. I’m not dead.”

Lestat reaches up, to trace Louis’ cheek. “Beautiful Louis. You put me in my coffin.”

Louis narrows his eyes.

His voice is sharper than he actually intends it to be, but he is beyond caring, the chill in his stomach manifesting to an ice block. “Lestat, focus.” He reaches out, to grip Lestat’s chin. “I am here. I am not dead. I hurt myself, yes, but I healed.”

Lestat stares at him, the gaze almost invisible in the dark, but still carrying weight. “I left you with Armand. I left Nicki with Armand. Armand called me. I got a letter.” His voice drops to a whisper, that breaks on the last word. “He went into the fire. You hurt yourself.”

Louis gasps, tears springing to his eyes.

His voice shakes, and he leans in, to put his forehead against Lestat’s. “But I am here, love.” His face crumbles, the endearment used before, but hurting so much now. “Lestat, I’m here. I am not dead.”

“I see.” Fingers glide up his neck, fingers without the rings they should be wearing, into his hair, nails scratching oh so softly. “Will you stay with me till nightfall?”

Louis gasps a sob, working his jaw for a moment.

He sounds broken to his own ears. “Well, I’m here, with you, in the coffin. Of course I’ll stay.” He hesitates, and then nestles in, pulling Lestat into a tight embrace, Louis’ left leg over Lestat’s hip.

Lestat sighs, sounding forlorn. “Beautiful Louis.”

Louis sniffs, pushing his nose up under his jaw.

Just breaths, for long minutes, while the storm outside rages.

Louis shakes his head eventually once, having to ask. “Did you…” He licks his lips. “Did you always hear her?”

Lestat inhales, and then answers, on the rush of breath released. “No.” A small chuckle, sounding manic. “I didn’t before.”

Louis frowns, pulling Lestat in tighter. “Before what?”

Lestat clicks his tongue. “Before Armand came by to tell me, of course.”

Louis freezes.

When he asks, he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Tell you… what.”

Lestat sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Louis’ temple, his voice carrying the levity of a fact that is burning with pain. “That you were dead, of course.”

*******

When the night falls Louis is grumpy.

Pissed. Tired. Furious. Exhausted. Desperate. Sad. Bitter.

Their bond is tranquil, which doesn’t help with his state of mind.

He gets up with Lestat, who smiles at him, kisses his cheek… and then returns to his plank, picking the iPad from the rubble. Everything is wet, the iPad is broken, but Lestat sits down with it regardless, staring at it with a frown, before he starts practicing, to the melody in his head.

Louis falls back against the wall to the room with the coffin, glides down against it, his legs, his soul having no strength left, at all.

*******

He sleeps in Lestat’s arms again, the next day. Sleeping, this time, with Lestat cradling him close, mumbling about Claudia in his sleep.

The hunger drives him out, and he steps up to Lestat, presses a kiss to his temple, trying to echo the smile that he is given, tying to convey the promise. “I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

Lestat smiles, beatifically, winking at him. “Of course. You always come back to me, Louis.”

Louis walks out, rapidly, telling himself he is not fleeing.

*******

He needs two days and nights to return.

He’s broken into the hangar, and into his own plane, to retrieve some more bottles of his ‘private wine’. He’s changed clothes, telling himself he’s glad to be out of the old ones that Lestat’s scent and the slight moldy odor of the house clings to. He thought about dragging a victim there, but the city is swarming with police after the storm, and he’s hurrying through it, with his head down, his steps hurried but sure. He’s bought a new iPad, bartered for and bought for an astronomical seeming price, but ultimately he didn’t care. He feels poised again, ready.

He’s fed, in case Lestat might want to… which might lead to…

He banishes the thought.

Halfway across Lafayette square he realizes that the liquid feeling, the feeling of Lestat near, is gone.

And he falls to his knees, in front of their bench.

*******

Another iPad broken, laying forlornly on the ground next to the other one.

Louis stares at it, wanting to incinerate it, but then again not, because… it’s a gift.

He barks a laugh.

The plank is gone.

The coffin is still there.

Louis wants to scream.

Instead, he gets up, and returns to his hotel.

And dials Daniel’s number.

Chapter Text

“Louis.” Daniel’s sly eyes twinkle at him, not without humor. And not without weariness. “Not so long time, no see.”

Louis smiles, somewhat pleasantly, not really in the mood. “Daniel. How’s the big apple?”

“Well, Brooklyn is fine, thank you.” Daniel leans back in his chair, eyes flickering round his apartment, obviously looking for the way Louis has come in. Louis could tell him that he made the lock turn in the front door telepathically, but … it’s more fun this way.

He hums, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

He pushes lightly at some of the books there, smirking definitely painfully at the one with “Savage Garden” in the title. He inhales, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, the blue skies painted on it. Another jab, in his guts. So much history, hinted at. So much history… forgotten.

He licks his lips. “How’s research?”

Daniel narrows his eyes, turning to put his right elbow onto the back of the chair, crossing his legs. “Well, I recovered the files on my laptop, and, before you get another impulse…” He emphasizes the word heavily, with a bit of an eye-roll. Louis smirks. “… I have now saved them in other places as well.”

Louis nods, clicking his tongue. “Good.” He shrugs, just a bit. “A short-sighted endeavor to burn your laptop in any case, I…” He trails off. I just wanted to leave it all behind in that moment. Free myself. He inhales. “I want you to write the book.” He hesitates, and then adds, a bit more softly. “And I want you to recover your memories with me. And…” Another pause, the words surprisingly hard to shape. “And I want you to find Lestat.” For me.

Daniel is silent, for that split second too long. “You think I can?”

Louis smiles painfully, and then looks up, to lock their gazes. “Daniel, I fully believe you have already tracked him down, haven’t you.”

Daniel narrows his eyes, his voice taking on that slight stubborn inflection. “Maybe.”

Louis exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “He isn’t there anymore. I assume you found him in the Treme district in New Orleans?”

Daniel tilts his head, his right hand fidgeting a bit. Louis notices the tremor is back. “A desolate little house there, yes. I was just about to go down there, but I wanted to wait till the storm had passed.”

Louis nods, swallowing down the pain. “He was there. I… I found him. He…” He inhales, not caring if Daniel can hear the shudder in it. “He was not in a good place.”

Daniel snorts. “How could he have been. From what you told me he likely thought you were dead!”

Louis works his jaw, ignoring the pang in his guts. “What makes you say that?”

Daniel rolls his eyes, leaning back a bit, before he leans back forward. “Come on, Louis. You tell me of how Armand called him in San Francisco because you had hurt yourself? You tell me of how he crossed an ocean to ultimately find a way to save you? You tell me how there is this bond between you and that you can feel…”

Louis’ voice is a hiss. “Stop.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow. “He would have come and tried to find you if he had thought you were alive still after that night in San Francisco.”

Louis looks away, stares unseeing at the dark TV. “He…” He works his jaw again, can feel the muscles jump in it. “He said Armand came by to tell him I was…” He trails off, his throat closed off.

“Fits.” Daniel’s voice is beyond dry, and then turns on a bit of a sardonic inflection. “Was it Armand who suggested Dubai?”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth, remaining silent.

Daniel cackles. “Thought so. Absolute privacy, but also absolute data control via his little iPad, hmm? On the other side of the world, far enough so you wouldn’t be able to feel Lestat.” Daniel lifts an eyebrow. “How far does the maker-fledgling-bond reach by the way? Is it the same for every vampire bond? How does it work, exactly?”

Louis swallows, shaking his head once. “I do not know. I…” He inhales, trying to remember the feeling. “I think I felt him when I touched down, but the feeling was definitely there when I was in the city limits of New Orleans.”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel leans over to the table, scribbling something down. “And now it’s gone?”

Louis smiles, a smile that bleeds at the edges. “Yes.”

“I see.” Daniel shifts a bit, uncrossing his legs. “What did you do?”

“Do?” Louis scoffs. “Nothing.”

Daniel smirks at him. “Oh. So he fled your presence because…”

Louis pushes up off the couch, walks down the living room, crossing his arms. “He thinks I’m a ghost. And I… left him, and I… I needed two nights to collect my thoughts, and I…”

Daniel’s voice is deadpan. “And when you returned he was gone.”

Louis swallows. “Yes.”

“Hmmm.”

Louis narrows his eyes, and then turns around, very slowly. “I’m glad you find this amusing.”

Daniel leans back a bit, folding his hands. “I’m not amused. Well. Not about the fact itself.”

“But?” Louis’ voice is clipped.

“Buuuutttt…” Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “But you went immediately to New Orleans, you found him, and it wasn’t what you expected and so you ran.”

Louis stares at him, his mouth twitching.

His tone is acerbic. “What.” There is energy under his skin, collecting.

Daniel sighs. “It’s a pattern, Louis.” He unlocks his hands, using them to underline his words. “He turns you, it isn’t easy or what you expected, you run. Oh, you come back, with Claudia as an excuse, but it isn’t easy or what you expected, so you run. Well, after trying to kill him. Paris, you find others, it’s not what you expected, your impulse is to run, only Claudia doesn’t want to. Afterwards with Armand, you run away regularly, if I recall correctly. Guess it wasn’t what you wanted or expected either.”

Louis inhales, his nostrils flaring. “I didn’t run in Dubai.”

Daniel tilts his head. “No. He clipped your wings in Dubai and held you in a golden birdcage.”

Louis swallows, flashes of the Dubai bedroom before his inner eye. The need to reject the notion is still strong, though Louis knows Daniel is right. “I could have left…”

Daniel lifts his head. “If you say so, Louis.” He leans back again, and then gets up, walking past Louis and into the kitchen, reaching for a glass, which he fills with water from the tap. “And now you ran, from him.” Daniel takes a large sip, and then leans against the counter to look at Louis. “What did you expect what would happen if you sought him out?”

Not this. Louis blinks slowly, and then deflates, sitting down on the edge of the dining room table.

“I…” He hesitates, licking his lips. “I didn’t expect him to be so…” He trails off.

Daniel offers the word, calmly. “Damaged?”

Louis looks away, trying to breathe. “Yes.” He looks back at Daniel, shaking his head. “Lestat always seemed to bounce back so quickly. He… took it all in stride. Even in Paris… I mean…”

Daniel hums, tilting his head. “You saw him composed and all decked out on the stage and thought he was fine.”

Louis smiles, defiantly, admitting as much to Daniel as to himself, though there is a lingering awareness of noting other things, then, too. “Yes.“

“Hmm.” Daniel takes another sip, the wet gulps scratching along Louis’ nerves. “Lestat loves you though. Why would he leave?”

Louis shakes his head, not daring to dwell on the statement. “I do not know. The hurricane… it destroyed part of the roof. His iPad broke. Maybe…“ He shrugs, spreading his arms. “I thought maybe he would go and buy another one, steal one, but he has left the city, I…” He lowers his arms again. “I just don’t know why.” Or where to.

Daniel frowns, staring at him for a long moment. “What was he doing before you came to him?”

Louis cackles, shaking his head. “He was practicing for a world tour.” He rolls his eyes. “On a wooden plank, painted to be a piano in his blood.” He smirks a bit bitterly. “And the iPad provided the music.”

Daniel’s voice is beyond dry, not asking. “And you thought he was fine.”

Louis can feel the fire, under his skin. He suppresses the impulse, biting the words out. “Yeah, well, I guess…” He licks his lips. “I guess I was just happy to see him.”

“Mhh hmmm.” Daniel lifts his eyebrows, exhaling in a rush. “What was he playing?”

Louis shakes his head, once. “Something by Martha Argerich.” He frowns. “I don’t remember what exactly. He said he’d heard she’d retired, and that he would need to practice to take over from her.”

Daniel stares at him, and then tilts his head. “Martha Argerich is still alive. She grew up in Argentina, but lives now in…”

Louis interrupts him, with a frown. “Right. She was born and raised in Buenos Aires.”

Daniel hums, before he nods at Louis. “That where you wanted to go before… murder night, right.”

Louis pulls a face at the name. “Yes.” He swallows, feeling suddenly sick in his stomach. “What if he…”

Daniel weighs his head. “But if he wanted to learn from her, wouldn’t he go and seek her out instead?”

Louis hesitates, staring unseeing at the ground. “Not if he wants to find her roots.” He lifts his gaze to Daniel’s, his words coming haltingly at first, and then ever faster. “He said he was practicing for a world tour. He wanted to go to Buenos Aires back then for the cultural and musical influences of the time, influences which surely influenced Argerich as well. He said he needs 50 more years of practice. 50 years, Daniel. 50 years back? What… If he wants to soak up the influences there, surely…” He breaks off, breathing heavily.

Daniel purses his lips. “Possibly.”

Louis glowers at him. “More of a lead than I had before.”

Daniel smiles at him, teeth flashing. “Of course we can also check if he owns property along the way. Has checked in somewhere. If you have some of his aliases.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “I have some.”

Daniel nods. “Good.” He hesitates. “We can also ask the Talamasca.”

Louis stares at him, silently, for a long moment, trying to read his thoughts, but if Daniel is thinking something it isn’t clear cut. “You trust them?”

Daniel barks a laugh. “Trust? No.” He waves his free hand. “They hacked into my computer, they gave me weird, veiled warnings, and generally try to seem open, but they’re a bunch of secret order elitists, who want to be perceived as the good guys.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t trust them, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use them!” He smirks. “Bet they would love to meet you.”

Louis pulls a face, looking away.

Glass clinks, and he looks back over to see Daniel put the glass in the sink, yawning widely.

Louis exhales, through his nose. “It’s late. I apologize. You must be tired.”

Daniel waves a hand, turning back to him, locking his arms after. “I kinda like doing the vampire research at night.” He winks. “Gets me in the mood.”

Louis’ mouth twitches, in an almost smile. “Yeah?”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Of course that wasn’t part of the deal in Dubai. Well, most of the time.”

Louis nods to himself. “True.”

Daniel tilts his head. “Why?”

Louis hesitates. “I suppose…” He shrugs. “I suppose he wanted to make it easier for you.”

Daniel smiles at him in a way that lets him know he thinks this is bullshit. “Ya think that’s why he kept you asleep at times, too? To make it easier for me?”

Louis glowers at him. “In any case, maybe we should continue this discussion when you’ve slept. It is well past 3am.”

Daniel clicks his tongue, and then shrugs. “We can do that.” He narrows his eyes. “You seem pretty annoyed now, Louis - still think you find your lost lover and uncover memories with little old me?”

Louis snorts darkly. “Well, we’ve been linked by fate.”

Daniel weighs his head, tone dry as the desert. “And mind-fuckery.”

Louis nods, just once, and then sighs, before he turns to leave. “That, too.”

********

The vampiric heart beats evenly, a low drum, two blocks down the street.

He recognizes Sam Barclay from afar, the blonde vampire with the - for today’s age - rather unbecoming haircut seemingly at ease at the corner of Daniel’s apartment complex. It’s early evening, an hour past sundown, and Louis has just fed.

He reaches for the anger at Sam, at the fury he felt when Sam helped to entomb him, but it seems distant, mellowed by the revelations of the trial script, and the proof it brought. Still, Sam being here means Daniel did indeed contact the Talamasca - or the Talamasca kept track of Daniel.

Louis frowns, hesitating for a long moment, and then walks up to Sam, who watches him approach, seemingly calm. Though his heartbeat picks up, just a bit, something that Louis notes with grim satisfaction.

Louis comes to a halt a foot away, keeping his stance unthreatening, his smile open. “Not working as a DJ I see.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Just one of many… occupations.”

Louis nods, still keeping the smile. “Yes, I am aware of at least one other. Seems it is still current?”

Sam tilts his head, just a bit. “At times.” He hesitates. “I am to give you this.” He pulls an envelope from his leather jacket breast pocket, turning it over so the lettering on the front is visible. “An invitation.”

Louis echoes the words. “An invitation.” He hesitates, and then takes the envelope, turning the heavy manila paper over in his hands. Louis de Lac. “You already used my new name I see.”

A small smile flickers over Sam’s face. “We are well informed.”

“Hmmm.” We… “Did you write the script back then, Sam?”

Sam presses his lips together. “I did.”

Louis nods, slowly. “Did… “ Armand. He cannot make himself say the name. “Did he ask you to?”

Sam fidgets. “I… it was expected. He… edited it.”

Louis voice is very soft. “And directed it.”

Sam swallows. “Yes.”

Louis looks away, watches the traffic for a moment, the mortals hurrying by. “You could have said something. Anything.”

Sam fidgets again, voice vaguely apologetic. “He kept watch. And…” He trails off.

Louis prompts after a moment. “And?”

Sam sighs. “And we wanted the coven to be destroyed.”

‘We’ again. Louis inhales through his nose, feeling tendrils of anger gather in his gut. “No matter the cost, I assume.”

Sam stays silent, face a mask.

Louis looks down on the envelope for a long moment, and then leaves him standing there, entering the apartment complex, taking the stairs.

After a moment the vampiric heartbeat is gone, and Louis resist the impulse to rush after it, and silence it, forever.

******

“So, what’s in the envelope?”

Louis leans back on the couch, staring at it, laying there on the couch table. “An invitation.”

“To?” Daniel stands off to the side, staring down at him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Louis looks up, feeling cross. “Isn’t it too late for coffee?”

Daniel snorts. “Slept all day, knew it’d be a long night! So, what invitation?”

Louis looks up at him from the corner of his eyes. “You’re very welcome to open it.”

Daniel lifts his chin a bit, watching him intently. “You don’t want to.”

Louis scoffs, resisting the urge to put his feet onto the coffee table. He’s feeling like it though - petulant. He clicks his tongue. “Must be the Talamasca.”

Daniel hums. “And you don’t want anything to do with them. Right.”

Louis lifts his head to look at the ceiling, then lets his head fall back onto the headrest. “I want to find Lestat.” He exhales. “Not them.”

“So you said.” Soft steps on the carpet, then the sound of Daniel picking up the envelope. The rustle of him opening it. Short pause. “Yeah, it’s an invitation alright. To their New York City headquarters. Tomorrow night.” Another small pause. “An ‘Aaron Lightner’ will be there… hmm.”

Louis closes his eyes, lifting his eyebrows. “Hmm?”

He can hear Daniel narrow his eyes. “Think I met the fellow the other day. He came over to greet Raglan. Didn’t stay long, wasn’t interested in chit chat.”

Louis frowns. “You met Raglan?”

Daniel chuckles. “Flew out of Dubai with me. Invited me for a coffee.” His voice takes on a sardonic undertone. “The coincidence, I tell ya.”

Louis chuckles. And then he sobers, side-eyeing Daniel. “A coffee date?”

“Maybe.” Daniel shrugs. “I felt it prudent to take the offer so I could get to some details. That’s when that Lightner fellow showed up. Coincidentally just when Raglan was explaining things to me.”

Louis snorts. “I see.”

Daniel waves the invitation around a bit. “We should go.”

Louis pulls a face.

Daniel leans in. “Seriously, Louis.” He nods at his computer. “They have material that spans centuries… and that’s only the edited stuff. They had their people in your apartment, and in mine.” He leans back. “If anything, I think they owe us an explanation.”

Louis closes his eyes for a long moment, and then nods, curtly.

He inhales, and then reopens his eyes, to look at Daniel. “I have been thinking on aliases. The crime tour guide mentioned that “Sebastian Melmoth” lived at Rue Royale. But there’s also “Lestan Gregor”, and “Stanford Wilde”.” Louis frowns. “I think I remember him cackling about “Clarence Oddbody” at some point. Oh, and Sheridan Blackwood, Jason Hamilton and Isaac Rummel… those are the ones I remember from back then.”

Daniel stares at him, with that flat look he does so well. “No wonder you people have trouble hanging on to who you are…”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Keeping track of your own property through back- and forth-inheritance can be a time-consuming activity. And today’s surveillance and digital fingerprints do not especially help with all that.”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Lawyers?”

Louis smiles. “An army of them.”

“Hmmm.” Daniel tilts his head. “Who is Lestat’s?”

Louis blinks, thinking about that envelope in his room. “Roget’s, in Paris.”

Daniel frowns. “No US affiliate office?”

“Uhhhhh.” Louis clicks his tongue. “They do….” He narrows his eyes. “We should be able to…”

Footsteps as Daniel walks over to his laptop, interrupting him. “Way ahead of you. Siri, give me the names and phone numbers of the US office of ‘Roget’s and Associates, Marais, Paris’.”

Louis swallows. “Still in Marais?”

Daniel snorts, while his eyes scan the list he is provided. “That law firm is just as old as he is.” He looks over at Louis. “Did you know the Marais is a big LGBT quarter these days…”

Louis blinks, and then smiles gently. “No, I did not know that.”

“Mhhh. Ah, here. Oh, they have an affiliate office in New Orleans, headed by one… Christine Claire.”

Louis pushes his tongue against his front teeth, trying to pin down why that name makes his stomach flip. “That’s her.”

He can sense Daniel look at him. “How do you know?”

Louis shakes his head, reaching up to rub his eyes, his voice muffled by his hands. “I don’t know. I just know that… if Roget’s has an affiliate office in NOLA, then it must be her.” He lowers his hands, to look at Daniel. “It’s her.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Alright then.” He reaches for his phone, typing in the number with one hand. “I guess if she deals with vampires she is used to late night calls.” He lifts the phone to his ear, clearing his throat. Louis can hear the dial tone.

It takes precisely two of the little beeps, and then a pleasant, and firm female voice answers Daniel, and Louis stares into space as Daniel makes an appointment with her for the end of the week, charming, laying on the journalism focus rather thick.

Louis blinks, when the little click of the button signals that Daniel has hung up. “Done.”

Louis nods, clearing his throat. “Good.”

Daniel turns to him, eyebrows lifted. “What now?”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth, staring into space again. “Want to ask a few follow-up questions?”

There is the sound of papers being pulled closer, and Daniel’s voice definitely carries humor. “Thought you’d never ask!”

******

The Talamasca headquarters NYC are situated in a big office building, lots of other firms in it. The entrance is nondescript, but equipped with heavy steel doors, and an assortment of electronic surveillance that the rest of the building seems to be missing.

Louis lifts his face, staring right into the camera, with a smile.

The doors swing open, revealing a brightly lit, marble floored corridor with lots of art on the walls, and two men, coming up to them.

Louis picks the names and recognition from Daniel’s mind, extends his hand before the older, white-haired one can speak. “Mr. Lightner. A pleasure to meet you.” He turns to the other man with the thick, black-rimmed glasses. “Mr. James.” They exchange a nod.

Aaron Lightner seems to be in good health, the blue eyes very sharp. Louis knows he will hear a british accent before the words are spoken.

He squeezes Louis’ hand firmly. “Mr. Du Lac. Thank you for following our invitation.”

Louis hums, and then quirks an eyebrow. “And you know Mr. Molloy.” He shoots a look at Raglan James, who only smiles pleasantly.

Aaron Lightner releases his hand, offering it to Daniel as well. “We do.”

Daniel cackles. “More interesting now?”

Aaron Lightner laughs lightly. “Oh, you were plenty interesting last time, Mr. Molloy, I was just on another case and in a hurry.” He turns to indicate an office visible through some mahagoni doors, thick carpets and leather sofas, with polished brass lights. There is a vampiric heartbeat at the far end of the room. “Please. Follow us. I hope you won’t mind that Sam Barclay will join us.”

The muscles in Louis’ jaw jump. “Not at all.” He follows the two men, feeling Daniel hang back a bit, to look at the art. And probably take photos of them. “I have been looking forward to align …” He hesitates on the word ‘memory’, the word coming with a bitter taste. “…our knowledge.”

Raglan James chimes in, sitting down on one of the double sofas in the middle of the room, crossing his legs. “Pursuit of knowledge is our mission.”

Louis clicks his tongue, sitting down on the other side of the separating glass coffee table. “Only pursuit?”

Daniel sinks down next to him, with a small cackle. “Oh, they run interference, too.”

Aaron Lightner shoots him a look. “That was an exception.”

Louis frowns, his words sharpened by his smile. “How can it be an exception, Mr. Lightner, or am I misunderstanding what Sam Barclay did in Paris as well? Interfering?”

The vampiric heartbeat comes closer, gliding up to them like a shadow, settling in an armchair between the sofas. “Watching. Collecting.” The smallest hesitation. “Guiding.”

Louis scoffs. “Guiding?”

Sam Barclay presses his lips together for a long moment. “It is difficult.”

Louis tilts his head, leveling him with a stare. Echoing, his voice acerbic. “Difficult.” He folds his hands. “More difficult than writing a play to burn my daughter alive on stage?”

Words spoken long ago echo in his mind. ‘A play, that would burn your daughter alive?’ He swallows.

Sam Barclay shoots him a look. “The script was requested. You know that.”

Louis swallows, looking away. The pain makes it impossible to breathe, for a long, long moment.

Aaron Lightner clears his throat. “We have come here to…” A rustle of cloth and Louis forces himself to look over. “…make peace, if you so will, Mr. Du Lac.” The scholar’s eyes twinkle. Louis tries, but the mind is impenetrable. “Build trust.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “What for?”

Raglan leans forward a bit, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “We have centuries of knowledge in our vaults. Bits and pieces of your history, too.”

Louis blinks, shifting his gaze to Raglan. “My… history?”

Raglan smiles. “We have the things you left behind in storage.”

Louis’ heart thuds, hard. Off to the side, Sam Barclay shifts in his seat.

Louis’ voice is very calm. “The things I left behind?”

Raglan lifts his eyebrows. “Not just yours. Previous belongings of Mr. De Lioncourt and of your daughter Clau…”

Louis interrupts, with a very gentle smile, the edges of the room pulsing in red. “I can assure you there is nothing previous about our belongings.”

Daniel clears his throat, leaning forward as well, his voice almost gleeful. “As much as I would enjoy the bloodbath that is about to follow…” He shoots a look at Louis, who swallows, compulsively, trying to regain his composure. “…maybe we should leave the possession details for later.”

“Ahhhhh….” Raglan James straightens up, his teeth flashing. Louis has to concentrate not to lash out. “Possession, a subject I am most interested in.” Aaron Lighter tilts his head, just a bit, and Raglan James inhales, spreading his hands just a bit. “But, a subject for another time.”

Louis closes his eyes, for a moment. “Again. Why are we here.”

Aaron Lightner quirks an eyebrow. “That is the question, Mr. Du Lac. Why did you follow our invitation?”

Louis works his jaw. “You may have information that I need.”

The blue eyes stare at him, unflinchingly. “Mr. De Lioncourt left New Orleans via the cloud gift. He has traveled south. We have lost his trail in the jungles of South America.”

Louis bites his lips. “I see.” He swallows, and then shakes his head. “What do you want in return?”

Aaron Lightner smiles. “Nothing much, Mr. Du Lac. Align our records.”

Louis frowns. “Align your records?”

The white-haired man sighs gently. “We have lost track of you on several occasions. We know you spent decades with the vampire known as Armand. We would like to confirm some things - enhance others.” He nods at Daniel. “Mr. Molloy can be our liaison. A negotiator between our interests.”

Daniel interrupts, his tone sharp. “Wouldn’t that be convenient.”

Aaron turns to him. “Convenient for all of us. I believe you and Mr. Du Lac wish to regain memories. We certainly can help with that, with data and with… more spiritual methods.”

Daniel grins, not quite politely, the sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Louis turns to look at Sam, who looks back at him, calm on the surface, but Louis can hear his heart pick up, just a bit. “I saw your face when you buried me. I remember the glee. I thought about it, every waking moment, lucid or not, until Armand finally found a way to get me out.”

Sam’s face shutters a bit, his countenance taking on a petulantly defiant expression. “I played along. And for the record, it was Lestat who got you out.”

Louis’ mind halts. He cannot think.

The word scratches his throat. “What?”

Sam lifts his chin, just a bit. “He bargained for your safety. For your life. He kept screaming at Armand to let you out. Increasingly frantic as he felt your heart slowing down.” Sam locks eyes with him. “Just as you must have felt his heart slow down when you…”

“Stop!” Louis’ heart thunders in his ears. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “What bargain.”

Sam tilts his head. “Lestat promised he would play along if only Armand would save you.” Sam Barclay smiles, with a shake of his head. “When Armand took you to the dungeon it was the final test.”

Louis swallows, compulsively. Tries to force the words out. “Lestat was certainly good at pretending to be fine with it.”

Sam frowns, staring at him. There is something in his voice Louis cannot place. “In the dungeon?”

Louis blinks, on the verge of asking, but Raglan interrupts. “Maybe this is something that needs to be uncovered in time.” Louis turns his head to glower at him. Raglan smiles pleasantly, his mind a fortress. “I have prepared a list of events and questions.” He pulls a thick envelope from his breast pocket, holding it out for Louis to take. Louis only stares at it, and eventually Daniel reaches out, to take it from Raglan.

Raglan continues after a moment, eyes narrowed. “If you want, you can reclaim your possessions, Mr. Du Lac. We have already catalogued them.”

Louis works his jaw for a moment. “I will let you know where to send them.”

Raglan smiles politely. “Of course.”

Aaron clears his throat. “As per the alignment of our knowledge, we will answer within two weeks, with all our vaults may provide that can be shared. We would appreciate you doing the same.” Louis’ gaze turns to him, and Aaron chuckles, before continuing. “Now, now, Mr. Du Lac, let’s not pretend we will not all hold back some things.” His gaze turns to Daniel, and he leans forward, just a bit. “And we would appreciate it if you could return the trial script. It is one of a kind after all.”

******

It’s all that Louis can do not to, the impulse to smash Daniel’s door into the wall is almost overpowering, but he curbs it, his teeth gnashing audibly.

Daniel follows him into his own apartment seemingly unperturbed, eyes still on the list of questions they got. “A question regarding your selection criteria in San Francisco, several on your living requirements, some…” He pauses, looking up with a frown, “now these are weird, they want to know about the sensitivity of your skin, and the sensation of drinking blood, the way your cells change…”

Louis tries not to spit fire. “Why is that so unusual?”

Daniel blinks at him and Louis has the distinct impression he only just refrains from rolling his eyes. “They have access to Sam Barclay. Why do they ask questions about your vampiric body?”

Louis throws his arms up into the air, falling down onto the sofa in a huff. “I don’t know. Maybe they want to cross-reference it.”

“Hmmm.” Daniel sits down at the dinner table behind the sofa. “You’re still pissed about that bargain.”

Louis feels his fangs drop before he can help himself. “How could he! How could he just… negotiate this without me knowing. How…” He breaks off, lips pressed together.

Daniel’s voice is calm, if a little guarded. “He? Armand… or Lestat?”

Louis snorts darkly, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. “Both.”

Louis can feel Daniel look at him. “You feel like they sold you around.”

Louis’ nostrils flare, and he presses the tip of his tongue to one fang, until it bleeds. “In a way.” He rolls his shoulders. “I remember…” He pauses, then tries again. “I remember making the decision to hurt Lestat. I remember turning to Armand, seeing some surprise on his face.”

Daniel hums, prompting. “In the rooms of Magnus’ old tower.”

“Yes.” Louis pulls a face. “There was something weird about Sam today, as he said ‘dungeons’”.

Daniel’s voice is surprisingly soft. “You noticed that, hmm.”

Louis’ anger leaves him, suddenly, like a candle snuffed out, the tears springing to his eyes. “Nothing is quite as I remember it. I just… everything is muddied, everything is… tainted.” There is a sob somewhere, stuck in his throat. He suppresses it, viciously. “I cannot trust anything anymore. Just lies upon lies, upon lies…”

Daniel interrupts, calmly. “Not everything is lies, Louis. In fact, I think we might find a lot of truth when we go through the notes for the book.”

Louis closes his eyes, tries to remember hearing Lestat’s heartbeat under his ear. Only a few days ago. It seems like a lifetime.

He doesn’t care if his voice sounds shaky. “I need to find him, Daniel. He is … not alright.” His voice drops to a whisper, just loud enough for Daniel to understand. “He didn’t wear the rings.”

“Which rings?” Daniel’s voice is almost gentle, still with that undertone of a push.

Louis smiles, a wobbly smile, framed by the red tears he cannot stop from falling. “He wore two rings, usually. A ring with three stones, symbolizing our… union. The other reminded him of Nicolas.”

Daniel’s voice seems to echo, like a judgment of the gods. “Two loves, lost.”

Louis bites his lip. Repeating, with a sniff. “I have to find him.” He turns, to look at Daniel. “Flight to New Orleans, tomorrow night. Then we’ll depart for South America.” He inhales, and then gets up, the decision made, and feeling like relief. “Pack your things.”

Daniel’s tone carries a smile, a little one, but firmly in place. “Louis, I’m not going to go with you.”

Louis frowns, his tone carrying incredulity. “What?”

Daniel puts the papers down, looks at them for a long moment. “Louis, I’m an old man, with Parkinson’s. I am not going to go and hunt a mad vampire through the jungles of South America.”

Louis swallows. “He’s not mad. Not really, just…”

Daniel interrupts him. “Just what? Raglan told me that vampires do get mad at times. The weight of time, and all that. They have records where older ones apparently snap out of it again after a few centuries… some do not.”

Louis shivers. “That is unacceptable for Lestat.”

Daniel lowers his head, shakes it, once. “Maybe, but still - the jungles and a big adventure are an impossibility for me.”

Louis purses his lips. “Stay in Buenos Aires then. I will book you a suite. We will get you and me satellite telephones.” He hesitates, and then waits until Daniel looks up again to lock their gazes. “We will fly in Fareed and have him administer your medication.”

“Fareed, huh?” There is a little smile on Daniel’s face. “Interesting fellow, that one.”

Louis waves a hand, in no mood to discuss Fareed. “I will discuss things with you over phone. You will do your research and guide me to Lestat.”

Daniel’s voice drips with sarcasm. “That easy, huh?”

Louis works his jaw, his voice defiant. “Yes.”

Daniel looks at him for a long moment, and then snorts, before he nods. “Fine. But it better be an all-inclusive deal. Materially and response-wise.” He grins.

Louis stares at him, waiting for him to say more, and then prompts. “What.”

Daniel shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment, before he looks at Louis, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s just… there’s fire in you once more.” Daniel’s smile grows a bit wistful, a whole lot more gentle. “Fire I remember from a seedy little room in San Francisco.”

Louis swallows, the tears springing to his eyes again.

He echoes the words, with an exhale. “Lestat is my coal fire.”

Daniel hums, eyebrows raised. “A true coal fire is very difficult to extinguish.”

Louis smirks a bit wistfully. “Especially one running so deep.”

Daniel hums again, leaning back in his chair. “Really cannot wait to meet this guy.”

Louis cackles, shaking his head. “Oh, I bet you…” He hesitates, reaching for the statement with all he knows. “You will get along just fine.” And your history with me and Armand will make you irresistible.

Daniel quirks and eyebrow, his voice beyond dry. “Uh oh.”

And Louis cannot help, but grin.

Chapter Text

“Svenya. This is Mr. Molloy. Please tend to him as you would to me.” Louis turns to Daniel, to wink at him. He is in a much better mood tonight, now, now that they actually go and… He curbs the thought, turning to his pilot Henry, who stands in front of the cockpit. “Please clear us for departure back to New Orleans, we have an appointment tomorrow night.”

“Of course, Mr. De Pointe du Lac.”

Louis smiles at him. “It’s only Mr. Du Lac from now on, Henry.” He almost jogs up the few stairs, feeling invigorated, the blood of a disgusting little hedge fond analyst who cheated on retirement fonds singing through his veins. He can hear Daniel come up a bit more slowly.

Henry nods at him, and then at Daniel. “Of course, Mr. Du Lac. Mr. Molloy.”

Louis turns to the seats, sinking into his favorite one with a sigh.

Daniel flops down into the opposite one unceremoniously, commenting drily: “Nice.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “My lifestyle does come with requirements… and opportunities.”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel shrugs out of his leather jacket, throws it onto the next seat. “So is Dubai yours, or…”

Louis interrupts him, swallowing down the bad taste on his tongue. “Mine.”

Daniel nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Gonna make some adjustments now?”

Louis stares into space for a long moment, and then nods, once. “Likely.”

Svenya closes the door, and Louis can hear the pilots go through the check list. He turns his head back to her, with a smile. “Svenya, Mr. Molloy is not so fond of wine, would you please bring him a coffee?”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “Good guess.”

Louis smirks. “Not a guess.”

“Oh?” Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Still the old parlor trick?”

Louis exhales, looking at him directly. “It’s easier now.”

Daniel hums. “Now, now that you’re…”

Louis interrupts, his tone kind but intent. “Eating my… favorite food again, yes.”

Svenya returns, with a tablet laden with coffee and cookies, and the wine. The plane’s engines roar to life.

Naomi calls back from the open cockpit, to the clicking of buttons getting pushed. “Departure in 15 minutes, Mr. Du Lac. Eta to NOLA is 3 hours, 15 minutes. We will have some strong winds, but nothing comparable to the flight a week back.”

Louis nods, smiling in thanks at Svenya who offers him a filled glass of blood wine. “Thank you. And thank you Svenya, this will be all for now.”

Daniel’s eyes follow her to the back of the plane, where she sits down in the last seat, and pulls out her phone. He waits until the cockpit door is closed. “You seem familiar with them.”

Louis shrugs lightly, taking a sip, almost sighing at the taste. “They have been my… our crew for almost 10 years now.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “Thought you didn’t leave Dubai much. Boredom and all that?”

Louis lifts his eyebrows, gaze faraway. “True. But we… sometimes looked at art. In galleries. We both enjoyed that. And I… bought and sold art at times as you may remember.”

Daniel nods, munching on a cookie. “Like the Bacon triptych.”

Louis nods. “Yes. Though I do wonder who it actually was who bought it.”

Daniel cackles, reaching for his coffee cup. “Seemed incredibly convenient as a distraction.”

Louis nods. “Yes. And too good to not follow through.”

He clicks his tongue. “They knew exactly at what lever to pull to make us leave you alone for a moment.” He locks his gaze with Daniel. “What did they show you then?”

Daniel shrugs. “Files. Lots and lots of material. Obviously not all they have, I told you. Like, for example… they had some paintings of Marius de Romanus, Armand’s maker…” He hesitates, gauging Louis’ reaction, but Louis refuses to, “but no other files. Some of what you have told about contradicts.” Daniel shrugs again.

Louis frowns. “Contradicts? Like…?”

Daniel shakes his head, spreading his hands a bit. “Like… The dates on Nicolas de Lenfent’s coffin, for example. You said the dates on the plaque beneath the theater were 1769-1796.”

Louis’ frown deepens. “Yes? So?”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “The Talamasca files state the dates as 1780-1882…” Louis stares at him, not knowing what to say. Daniel continues, after a moment. “Now, we can assume that maybe the Talamasca only started to watch Nicolas later… but why would they want to watch an eleven year old boy. But if the date of Lestat’s turning is indeed in the ‘reign of terror’ so 1794 or 1795, and he was in a relationship with Nicolas, then it might be assume that Nicolas was not born 1780, because else he’d been only fift…”

Louis interjects, shaking his head. “No, no, Nicolas was a few years younger, but not… a child.” He pulls a face. “Lestat may be a lot of things, but that…” His mind flashes back to the scene with Claudia, when they confronted her, after the killing spree. Louis swallows. “He is not interested in children.”

Daniel nods, but he shrugs again. “Alright, so we take 1769 as birth date. 26 when Lestat is turned.  Lestat turns him sometime after… maybe 1796. So the date on the coffin might indicate his mortal death year.”

Louis pulls a face, feeling the plane start to back up from the parking position. “But why would a coven of vampires denote the mortal death dates?”

Daniel leans back, taking a sip of coffee. “That is the question, isn’t it.” Daniel tilts his head a bit, his eyes sparkling. “Or is it.”

Louis takes a big sip of his blood wine, following the train of thought and trying to stay calm, something in his chest hurting. “You think Lestat put that coffin there.”

Daniel purses his lips. “If you remember the dates correctly.”

Louis glowers at him. “I can assure you, I do not purposely deceive you.”

Daniel holds the gaze easily, voice gently sarcastic. “But so much of it all is a blur, isn’t it.”

Louis looks away, out of the window on the other side of the aisle. “So you think the Talamasca then noted down the actual death date of the vampire… Nicolas.”

“1882, yes.” Daniel reaches for another cookie. “These are good.” He munches on it, and then continues, his voice just a bit muffled. “Nicolas died, after more or less 8 decades. His body was buried in the theater, with date markers denoting his mortal life. Armand tried to feed me the tale of Lestat leaving him and Nicolas, uncaringly, and at the trial you said that they said that Lestat slept for a hundred years and then went over to the States.”

Louis blinks, feeling tired suddenly. “They did… “

Daniel nods. “But you also said that…” He holds up a finger, reaching for his bag to ruffle through some papers, pulling one out after one moment. “Here, I pulled the dates out. You told me about the tuxedos. And that he had seen the premiere of Don Pasquale in 1843.” He waves his finger a bit, and then continues. “And you told me of him and Claudia, and him telling about the chess championships in 1878.” Daniel looks up, over the rim of his glasses. “I mean, how can he be asleep and gone uncaringly, when he returned at least twice to Paris during those hundred years?” Daniel puts the paper away again. “Thrice, when we count some kind of burial for Nicolas, if what we think is true.”

Louis stares into his blood wine, for a long moment. “He definitely returned for Nicolas. For his…” He cannot continue, his heart seems to expand and then harden, splintering within the cage that his body makes for it. He swallows, lifting the glass to his lips for a big sip. The plane accelerates, and he lifts the glass away as not to spill, waiting for the take off to conclude, grateful for the excuse.

Daniel watches him, waiting, the eyes clear, with this weird mix of his that is both empathy and calculation.

The plane tilts into traveling mode when he asks: “Does the music box still exist?”

Louis frowns, shaking his head once. “I do not know.” He looks off to the side, a shiver running down his spine. “We packed it up, before we… I do not know. I … hope so.” He swallows. “Knowing what I know now…” He trails off.

Daniel waits, watching him, and then prompts, carefully. “Yes?”

Louis exhales, and then returns his gaze to Daniel. “Armand gifted a flee circus to Claudia, on her inauguration into the coven. He liked mechanical little wonders like that. I wonder…”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “A kind and yet quite vicious gift, if true.”

Louis licks his lips, his own words echoing in his mind. The good nurse, and the gremlin. A kind and vicious gift. “Yes.”

Daniel exhales, leaning back in the seat. “What do you expect of this…” He waves his free hand. “… Of this adventure, Louis? What do you want to happen?”

Louis looks at him, voice firm. “To find Lestat.”

“And then?” Daniel takes a sip. “Resurrection of what you had? Beating the dead horse?”

Louis glowers at him, and then looks away. “No. I…” He swallows, shaking his head. “I just need to…” He exhales, and then looks back at Daniel. “I need to make sure he is able to move on as well.” He presses his lips together for a moment. “Because he wasn’t. He was… enduring.” His face crumbles for a moment, his words coming faster.” He thinks I’m dead. He is not well. He says he sees her. He says he can hear her. I just…” He inhales a shaky breath. “What if he…” He stops, the words impossible to speak out loud.

Daniel nods slowly. Stating. “If he would hurt himself now, you would never forgive yourself.”

Louis’ world wobbles, and then glows red, before the tear drops down his cheek. “He… and I, deserve more than that.”

Daniel reaches for another cookie. “Well, then let’s make sure we find him before he tries anything stupid.”

Louis takes another sip, watching the clouds outside the window, refusing to consider the details of that thought.

******

“Mr. Du Lac, Mr. Molloy, please follow me.”

Louis lets his gaze drift around the office spaces, the place almost empty. He follows the pretty lawyer into her office. “I apologize for the late appointment, Ms. Claire.”

Christine Claire smiles, professionally and yet with a nuance of real amusement, extending her hand to indicate that Louis and Daniel should sit down. “Ah, I have several clients who prefer late meetings. All par for the course.”

Louis sits down slowly, waits until Daniel has settled as well. “In any case, thank you for meeting us at such short notice.”

Christine smiles, hands folded in front of her. “I have been instructed to tend to your every wish, Mr. De Pointe Du Lac.” The smile broadens, just a bit. “In the legal aspects, of course.”

Louis snorts, and then shakes his head once, knowing exactly why this ‘Ms. Christine Claire’ is Lestat’s lawyer. “Of course.” He nods to himself, and then lifts his eyebrows. “It is only Du Lac now, Ms. Claire, and… “ He hesitates, and then continues, more gently. “I need to find the client who gave you this instruction.”

Christine Claire nods, with a small shrug. “I have been instructed to relay the information in case you should ask.”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “That easy, huh?”

Christine looks at him. “Mr. De Lioncourt is an esteemed…“, she hesitates and then emphasizes, heavily, “generational client. His family has been with our firm for decades. His instructions with regards to Mr. Du Lac”, she nods at Louis, but keeps her eyes on Daniel, “were clear.”

Louis swallows, something heavy he didn’t know he was carrying dropping away. “Do you know how we can reach him?”

Christine looks back at him, eyebrows rising. “No. He did not leave a number. But I might have information on where. Maybe.” She reaches into a drawer, and pulls out an envelope, and Louis swallows, harshly, reaching out to take it from her, insanely glad when his fingers are not shaking.

He clears his throat. “He came by… last week?”

Christine hesitates, eyes on the envelope. And his glinting fingernails. “He dropped this off a few years ago, Mr. Du Lac.” She blinks, and then locks eyes with him, unflinchingly. “I received a voice message last week, telling me to take it out of the safe. Just in case.”

Louis scoffs, hiding the pain behind humor. “Just in… case?”

Christine seems to be uncomfortable. Louis refrains from listening in on her thoughts, his fingers tracing the edges of the envelope absentmindedly. “Mr. De Lioncourt was rambling. He was not easily understandable. I…” Christine clears her throat, and straightens up, her hands clasped and back in front of her on the desk. “I have been told that happens, at times, during our firm’s dealings with the De Lioncourt family. A generational malady.”

“Ah.” Louis closes his eyes for a moment, and then nods. “As such the process to transfer everything to his… son has been started?”

Christine smiles politely. “I cannot discuss these proceedings. I’m sure you understand.”

Louis smiles equally politely. “Of course.” He looks over to Daniel, locking eyes with him for a long moment, before returning his gaze to Christine. “Can I… can I hear that voice message?”

Christine purses her lips, hesitating for a long moment, and then shrugs, carefully. “The instructions cover all information on his whereabouts and the envelope. I think… that should be possible.” She turns to her computer, pulling the keyboard up. “Ah, there it is.”

Daniel chimes in, the reflection of her screen on his glasses hiding his pupils. “You save all voice messages?”

Christine looks at him for a moment. “A lot of our clients call in at non-office hours. We do need to document.” She presses a button, and there is a click from the speakers, and then Lestat’s baritone comes on, and Louis shifts in his seat, crossing his legs.

There is a chunk of ice, in his stomach. And a longing he can taste.

‘Christine, this is… this is Antoine de Lioncourt. Please, I… there is something you need to do. I … I will be leaving. Please, the procedure should be clear, it’s been done before, but now… if Louis… There is a chance Louis… If Louis comes by… The envelope, Christine. You know. I will… maybe… au revoir, mademoiselle. We will see each other in another life… Bonne nuit.”

Christine clicks another button and then leans back in her chair, her clasped hands in her lap.

She hesitates, and then offers, slowly. “Usually… so I have learned… his son will contact the firm in a few years.” She lets her eyes drift over Louis’ fingernails once more, and then up to Louis’ eyes, holding his gaze, unflinchingly. “I have only seen pictures of Mr. De Lioncourt senior, but I am told I will recognize Mr. De Lioncourt junior without problems.”

Louis swallows, and then smiles, a small smile, but true. “I have no doubt about it.” He pushes up, and then extends his hand to Christine, who takes it, without hesitation. “Thank you.”

Christine nods, shaking his hand, and then releases it to shake Daniel’s too. “My pleasure.”

Louis turns, and walks out, not waiting for Daniel, who catches up when the elevator arrives, stepping in after him.

Daniel’s voice is dry, stating just as the doors close. “They so know.”

Louis snorts. “Oh yes, they do.”

******

“So, how much does a lawyer handling a vampire’s legal problems make annually?”

Louis watches Daniel dig into the steak he ordered, his thumb running over the cloth over the inner pocket where he put the envelope. Again. “More than enough.”

Daniel cackles, reaching for his beer. “She had a Birkin bag.”

Louis hums, with a shrug. “Good for her.”

Daniel watches him, over the rim of the glass. “Aren’t you curious?”

Louis swallows, and then exhales. “Very.”

“But?” Daniel takes a big swallow, exhaling after, in obvious enjoyment.

Louis runs his tongue over his front teeth. “But… since this letter was given to her a few years back it does not contain his actual whereabouts, a list of possibilities at best. And…” He hesitates, staring at the mortals rushing by in the busy restaurant behind Daniel. “And the rest of it will be painfully personal.”

Daniel nods to himself. “Right. That other letter.”

Louis swallows, pursing his lips, the tone pissing him off more than he wants it to. “Yes.”

Daniel puts a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing it. Watching Louis. “Same paper?”

Louis works his jaw. “Yes.”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel grins.

Louis glowers at him. “What.”

Daniel tilts his head, smirks at him. “Louis, you may tell yourself that you’re over him…” He shakes his head, and then cackles. “…But you’re actually so far gone you never will be.” He continues chuckling, ignoring the dark look Louis sends him. “You know, this I fully believe. Dubai...” He waves his hand. “Dubai was a ‘cute couples telenovela’ performance. This…” He nods at Louis’ jacket, indicating the pocket with the envelope. “This is possessive desire. This is need. This is… longing.”

Louis’ voice is clipped. “I have simply put it into my pocket.”

Daniel snorts. “You keep feeling if it is still there. You have no intention of opening it while I’m still here.”

Louis looks away, admitting to himself that Daniel is right, and then abruptly pushes up, the chair screeching over the floor. “Take an Uber later, Daniel. I will see you tomorrow evening.”

Daniel’s eyes twinkle at him. “Alright then. Enjoy reading it.”

Louis presses his lips together, turning on his heel. He is angry, and he does not know at what or whom, the awareness that it’s not really Daniel only adding to it.

It’s only when he throws the envelope down next to the old one onto his bed that he understands it’s himself.

*******

“Feeling better now?”

Louis nods, and then settles into the seat across Daniel, watching him eat a salad.

He inhales, deeply. “I have called Ms Claire again. I have asked her to acquire Rue Royale for me.”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “She wasn’t surprised, was she.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “No, she wasn’t.” He lifts his eyes to Daniel’s, trying to convey his sincerity. “I apologize for yesterday.”

Daniel shakes his head. “No apology necessary.” He narrows his eyes. “What was in the letter?”

Louis swallows, and then pulls it out, hesitating for a long moment, before giving it to Daniel. “Read for yourself.”

Daniel leans back, and then puts his fork away, wiping his hands, before he takes it. “Nice hand writing.”

A small smile flickers over Louis’ face. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

Daniel hums, and then pushes the glasses up with his free hand, concentrating to read. Louis pushes into his mind, singling out the inner voice, overlaying it with his own imagination of Lestat’s voice:

‘Mon cher. I write to you from beyond the veil. I miss your heart, beating against mine. The veil hides you from me, mon cher, but I know you are there, just beyond my fingertips, beyond the lonely echo of my heart. But I cannot feel you. Cannot feel your soul touch mine. And yet, I know you are there, je le sais, tout simplement. And so, mon coeur, let me reach out to you, as devastatingly pathetic as it may be.

Because he says you’re dead.

And maybe I will be, too.

Maybe I am.

If you read this, then you are alive though, and have found traces of me.

Or the stars have collapsed and realigned, shifting the stardust to form us anew.

Whatever reality may turn to be I want you to know that if I travel, I will use the same alias that I used on legality as we danced. I will follow the geese, should I leave our home.

Find me, mon cher, in either world. Whenever. Wherever. Ah, that song by that singer, I have forgotten her name. We are meant to be together, mon coeur.

Find me, mon cher. Come to me.

Lift the veil.’

Silence, after.

Louis closes his eyes, allowing the pause, allowing it, knowing Daniel is rereading the letter.

There is a rustling of paper, and Daniel’s voice, carrying a hint of satisfaction. “So. Guess we were right.”

Louis nods, eyes still closed. “Yes. Buenos Aires.” He slowly opens his eyes again. “I had totally forgotten he used the name ‘Sebastian Malmoth’ on the papers for…” He swallows, shaking his head.

Daniel watching him, his eyes sly, but empathetic. “He left breadcrumbs for you to find. Planned for decades, just in case.”

Louis swallows, rubbing a hand over his face, for just a second. “I still don’t get why…”

“… He left New Orleans?” Daniel leans back in his seat, carefully putting the letter away into the envelope.

Louis nods, pulling a face. “Yeah, I mean…” He opens his arms, with a shrug. “I was right there?!”

Daniel chuckles, reaching out to offer Louis the envelope. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Louis gnashes his teeth while he takes it back, ire springing up like a kindled flame, his fingers tracing the edges of the paper.

His answer is curt. “Not to me.”

Daniel sighs, and then reaches for his glass of water to take a sip. “Louis, he obviously thought you were dead. Right? And apparently Armand…” Louis grimaces and Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Apparently Armand came by to tell him you’re dead.” Louis swallows, and then nods, once.

Daniel continues, after a small sigh. “You said he is not alright. You said he thinks you’re a ghost.” Daniel leans forward a bit, to lock eyes with Louis. “What does the letter say.”

Louis glowers at him, just a bit. “Find me, come to me. And the hint with Sebastian Melmoth, and thereby Buenos Aires.”

Daniel shakes his head, putting his glass down. “No, Louis. I mean, yes, that, too. But read the first and last sentence.”

Louis frowns, and then pulls the paper out again, unfolding it, while his stomach turns.

He hesitates, before reading out loud. “I write to you from beyond the veil, and… Lift the veil.” He blinks, looking up at Daniel. “He wants me to find him.” Another kind of hunt, almost.

Daniel inhales, slowly, his voice very kind, and Louis suppresses the annoyance of Daniel assuming he knows better. “No, Louis. In his thinking, I think it’s this: He wants you to find him… and lift the veil. Prove to him that you’re not dead.” Daniel snorts. “Probably prove to him that he’s not dead either.”

Louis blinks, slowly, mulling over Daniel’s words, evaluating them. “Right.” His mind feels static, he cannot think. “But why leave New Orleans?”

Daniel grins. “Easy. It’s a test. Because if you come after him to Buenos Aires you read the letter. And the dead cannot get letters from lawyers.”

Louis blinks, then blinks again, something in him shifting, from static to vague amused annoyance. “The dead also could not have bought him a new iPad or whatever?”

Daniel cackles. “True, but I guess when he wrote that letter they didn’t have iPads yet? In any case I think his damaged mind fell back onto that safety line.” He shrugs. “A lifeline, if you will.”

Louis nods, swallowing. Admitting, more to himself. “Like you were mine.”

Daniel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, was I? Silly old me?”

Louis exhales, through his nose. “Forged by shared history.”

Daniel weighs his head, taking another sip of water. “And history in the making.” He hesitates for a moment, and then pulls back the plate with the remaining salad, starting to eat again. The croutons make crunchy sounds and Louis’ mouth waters, the sound surprisingly close to the way bones sometimes crack in his grip when the blood is too good.

He looks away, clearing his throat. “I would suggest we take the plane down to Buenos Aires.”

Daniel’s voice is a bit muffled, as he obviously speaks with his mouth full. “I’ll call the Talamasca to tell us where he is in Buenos Aires.”

Louis looks back at him. “Think they know?”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “They had the apartment you brought me to in the 70s bugged. Of course they know it when a major predator enters another city. I would bet on it.”

Louis blinks, somehow ticked off and weirdly flattered by the denotation. Of Lestat. Which reflects back onto him, of course. Or does it? He clicks his tongue, refusing to reminisce on ripped of jaws and torn throats right now. “True.” He frowns, wondering out loud. “I wonder if there is a coven down there.” He hums, continuing, his eyes unseeing on the people around them. “I wonder how many others are out there now… We used to be so few. I remember Lestat saying we were ‘a hundred’, maybe, and not believing him… And then traveling the world, and not finding any. For years on end. And then Paris. 14 vampires. Fourteen. Nothing, against the dark of the night.” He shakes his head once, his eyes returning to Daniel’s. “It is a very lonely existence.” He smiles a bit bitterly, amending. “Was. Or is still, depending.”

Daniel watches him, finishing off his salad. “How many are out there now?”

Louis shakes his head. “I do not know. A lot more. There was this…” He scoffs, with another shake of his head. “There was this fledgling, that led me to Lestat. A new vampire, only a few years old, obviously just hanging out with Lestat, bringing him rats… He was rude, and utterly unimpressed by Lestat’s age and power… Cursing at him.” Louis swallows, his voice breaking. “But he knew who I was. Lestat must have…” He trails off, working his jaw, and then cackles. “And he was not impressed by me, either.”

Daniel nods, lifting the napkin to wipe his mouth. “A typical I’m getting old experience I see.”

Louis snorts, and then admits it, with a smirk. “Indeed.” He sobers slowly, his eyes finding Daniel’s. “Lestat called it the Dark Gift. Armand… Armand told me about the laws, you remember he told you how Lestat had supposedly come in and destroyed their way of living…”

Daniel interrupts, eyes narrowing. “You don’t believe him anymore?”

Louis frowns, waving a hand. “No, I… I do believe him, to an extent. It’s weird. But I know he didn’t lie about all of it. And… my point is that for centuries turning a vampire was almost sacrosanct. An act of sacrilege for some, an act of love for others. Literally a ‘dark gift’, coming with personal responsibility, and repercussions. And now…”

Daniel smirks, his voice dry as the desert. “Nothing is sacred anymore.”

Louis lowers his hand, with a sigh. “Indeed.”

Daniel cackles, leaning back, his eyes twinkling. “A propos sacred - I’m gonna head for the boy’s room and then we can take that flight if you want. I can call the Talamasca on the ride to the airport. I packed already.”

Louis snorts, and then nods, pulling out his phone, while he throws some bills onto the table for Daniel’s meal. “I’ll call my crew.”

******

Daniel stretches, his back popping loudly, his voice decidedly grumpy. “Private plane or not, with beds or not, but a journey of almost 30 hours is not the most comfortable thing these days.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, descending the steps down to the runway. “We had to refuel, and I prefer to wait for nightfall before continuing, in case of emergencies.”

Daniel follows him, decidedly cranky sounding now. “I noticed. If I had known before that we would stand for hours on end on some rural airports I would have booked a direct flight for myself. Could’ve gotten us a bit of a head start. I think there’s a direct flight that only takes 10 hours?! That in first or business class…”

Louis interrupts, rolling his own shoulders a bit. “Well, we are here now.” He shoots Daniel a look, before he turns to look back at his plane, and Svenya, who is standing on top of the stairs. “Svenya, I will stay in Buenos Aires for a while.” He can see Daniel frown from the edge of his vision, but ignores him. “You, Henry and Naomi are welcome to return to Dubai, and go back to stand-by. I will take at least a week.”

Svenya nods, her eyes tired and a bit relieved. “If you’re sure, Mr. Du Lac?”

Louis nods, looking over to see Daniel’s luggage all ready to be put into the limousine he ordered. “I am. I have everything I need for now.” He looks up at the cockpit, waving to the two shadows that are barely visible behind the windshields. “Thank you for keeping Mr. Molloy entertained.” He smiles at her and then turns, to walk towards the dark car that is being loaded with Daniel’s suitcases right now.

Daniel is waiting for him there, his eyes on the plane behind him. “So what do they think you do while the plane is grounded during the daylight hours?”

Louis shrugs, opening the door. “I do not know and I do not care. I pay them handsomely not to care either.”

He sits down in the back seat, looking up to Daniel through the open door. “If they have suspicions they have never even thought about these things when I was present. They were very carefully selected.”

Daniel purses his lips, walking over to the other side to get in as well.

He sighs, when he sits down, shooting a look over. “Finally sitting again!”

Louis exhales, and then offers a small smile. “Not for long.” He nods at the driver, an older man with tired eyes, instructing him in Spanish to drive down to Retira, Hotel Casa Lucia.

Daniel smirks at him, when the car starts to drive.

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

Daniel’s head tilts. “How many languages do you speak?”

Louis frowns, looking out of the darkened windows for a moment. “Oh. I don’t quite know. A few. Not as many as…” He hesitates, licking his lips. “I was never as good in learning and speaking languages, as… her.” He hesitates, amending. “Or him.”

“Mhhh.” Daniel pulls out a small notebook, scribbling something into it.

Louis shakes his head, with a bit of a smile. “What?”

Daniel looks up. “Oh just that… the vampiric change does not really change your abilities, does it. I mean, it obviously gives you more, but the focus, the talents are still there, aren’t they?”

Louis shrugs. “Yes.” He frowns. “You could say it enhances one’s affinities.”

Daniel nods. “Can you learn faster?”

Louis lifts his eyebrows. “I can read faster… if I want to.”

Daniel hums. “Armand still says ‘electronic mailbox’.”

Louis smiles, despite himself. “We are creatures of habit.”

Daniel tilts his head back a bit, his gaze calculating. “Do you still see yourself as human?” Louis frowns, opens his mouth to respond, deny, but Daniel holds up his finger, stopping him. “I don’t mean mortal. I mean human. The vampiric blood mutated you.” Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Do you still think you have a soul? Do you think that worldly rules apply to you?”

Louis looks away, running the tip of his tongue over his teeth.

He takes very long to answer, and Daniel does not prompt him. “A… good question, Daniel.” He blinks, looking up at the moon, clear and full tonight. “I think so, yes. That we have souls, I mean. I…” He frowns, and then amends, slowly. “And I used to think the rules applied. It used to torture me.” His own words, in his mind: I made you suffer. Because I was suffering.

He clears his throat. “I do think we have souls. I … have to believe that. I want to believe that one day…” He hesitates, breaking off, before trying again. “I feel it would be so much easier for us, if we did not have souls.” He looks at Daniel, holds the calculating gaze. “We kill. We relish the kill. We relish the blood.” He closes his eyes for a moment, and then sighs, dropping his voice, until it is barely more than a whisper. “And we indulge, and we hate it, and we suffer.” He smiles softly. “But the rules… All the old catechisms of faith. Making me suffer for so long.” He inhales, looking back out of the window, at the houses rushing by. “These rules change. For example… Armand… Armand he was ruled by a perversion of them, for centuries. Suffered their rules, their doctrine.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s really no wonder.”

Daniel’s voice prompts, gently. “What is?”

Louis snorts, gently as well, and then shrugs. “Anything, really.“

Daniel is silent for a moment, and then asks, carefully. “You think it was inevitable?”

Louis blinks, slowly, before he turns his head to look at him once more. “The suit changed nothing. Changes nothing. I would have kissed Lestat on the altar.”

Daniel hums, watching him. “You married Lestat.”

Louis swallows, and then exhales. “I married Lestat.”

He licks his lips, and then adds, with a small smile, that flickers out again immediately, like a candle. “And I meant it, too.”

Chapter Text

Louis pushes open the door to the suite, his voice a bit annoyed, but also portraying his amusement. “What is it, Daniel?” He turns to Daniel who is taking off his leather jacket now, kicking off his shoes with a sigh. “You have been dying to say something ever since the married comment.”

Daniel waves a hand, waits until Louis has paid the page who brought in their luggage, before he answers. “It’s silly. It’s just…”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, watches Daniel stretch. “Yes?”

Daniel shakes his head, but shrugs. “Well, Lestat didn’t die, so death did not part you. And you knew that. And I just wonder how you justified your relationship with Armand then?”

Louis’ feels his expression falter, feels the corners of his mouth turn down. He makes a conscious effort not to let it reflect in his voice. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Daniel watches him, like a shark. “You said you meant it.” He waves at his briefcase with the laptop. “Claudia said you carried him with you. You said he was almost a physical presence, in your relationship with Armand.” Daniel sits down on the edge of a sofa. “How did that manifest? Like, did you imagine him fucking you while you fucked Armand? Or did you overlay Armand’s image with his...?”

Louis stills, just freezes, and then makes himself relax, with an effort.

His tone is clipped. “And if I did?”

Daniel shifts, and Louis looks over at him. “I was just wondering. Because… if you imagine it is your husband… is it still cheating?”

Louis’ fangs are out, eyes flashing, before he can help himself. “Stop trying to degrade what we…” He stops himself, trying to get his breathing back under control.

He swallows the anger down, and the bitter realization that Daniel might be onto something right down with it. “As I said, it is the tiniest bit more complicated than that.”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel shrugs. “Okay.” He smiles pleasantly. “A propos degrading… I don’t see you too much into degradation, so the whips and dog bowls in the bedroom were for Armand I take it?”

Louis pulls a face, and turns away. “That is none of your business.”

Daniel retorts, calmly, but firmly. “Louis, if you really want to recover memories, and cross-reference my notes…” He leans forward, emphasizing heavily. “…find the truth, then we need to be honest.” He spreads his arms. “Even on the uncomfortable subjects.”

Louis closes his eyes, his shoulders coming down in defeat. “I know.” He turns his head, to shoot a look at Daniel. “Careful what you wish for though.”

Daniel snorts. “I used to score, for stories. Remember?”

Louis grins softly. “I remember.” He hesitates, and then shakes his head once. “Go and get settled, check for news by the Talamasca and I…” He trails off.

Daniel hums, completing the sentence. “Go for a snack?”

Louis runs his tongue over his fangs. “Yes.”

******

The victim struggles, fighting against him and his teeth, fighting the swoon, cursing, sweaty skin under his tongue, rough stubble, and the rush, the rush of fresh blood, hot and sticky, filling Louis’ mouth.

It’s hard to remember why he ever stopped, hard to remember why it was so important.

His victim’s memories open up, an addictive maelstrom of emotions and sensations, and impressions of a life, lived. And still the hands try to push him away, try to find a way.

A fierce soul, the taste of it making Louis want to weep.

The punch of death is orgasmic, and Louis stumbles back, gasping, eyes closed, the body crumpling to the ground.

Someone laughs, only a few meters away, on the other side of the darkened alley, and Louis smiles, fangs bloody, the moonlight painting the blood on his lips pitch black.

******

Daniel burps quietly, mumbling a ‘sorry’ after.

His eyes are resting on Louis’ face and expression, on the serenity that Louis knows is there.

He prompts, softly. “Spit it out, Daniel.”

Daniel grins. “You look a lot healthier.”

Louis nods, humming. “I feel a lot better.”

Daniel leads back on the couch, reaching for his half-finished glass of wine. “What made you change your mind?” Louis looks at him, and Daniel nods at him. “With regards to killing, I mean. You said you wanted your readers to know that you don’t kill anymore.”

“Ah.” Louis lifts his eyebrows, nodding to himself. “A lot has changed in the course of…” He hesitates, frowning, taking stock. “Two weeks.” He scoffs, with a shake of his head. “I don’t know. I just…” He grimaces, waving a hand. “All those years, eating blood from golden spoons. Eating rare animals. I…” He presses his lips together. “The fog is lifting, Daniel. My… reluctance to kill was never…” He trails off, grimacing again, trying to get past the hesitation. “It was never really about the kill itself.”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Louis pulls a face. “No, it was more about the way Lestat threw me into it all. I felt…” He shakes his head, looking at Daniel. “Back then I felt like it should have started with animals, and that I should… have worked my way up, to the feelings, and the memories that would come with the blood.” He pauses, letting his mind wander for a moment. “Of course the kills came with guilt, too.” He swallows, staring ahead unseeing. “Not only for… the kill. That, too, but we… We often killed among…” He works his jaw, shaking his head. “The docks, the not so fortunate.” He swallows. “Lestat had put up rules, regarding standing, and importance. You can probably guess what skin colors would usually be killed.”

Daniel hums, taking a sip. “That infuriated you.”

Louis clicks his tongue, fighting to keep the bite from his tone. “Of course. The Azalea helped. With the prey, I mean, in the first years, but…” He shakes his head. “Still. The tendency was clear.”

“Did you discuss this with Lestat?”

Louis hesitates, and then shakes his head. “No. He would have brushed it off.” He swallows. “Part of that would have been grounded in willful ignorance… and the other part in practical necessity.” The words taste bitter on Louis’ tongue. He spits out the last word. “And I could not have argued with that.” He closes his eyes for a long moment, feeling for the still simmering anger, and then letting it go, with an effort. “Claudia’s… not caring led the police to us. The coven did the same, by the way. In Paris, I mean. ” He licks his lips. “The rules were simple, and fitting… if racist, I guess.”

Daniel narrows his eyes, watching him, like a shark. “What changed now?” Louis looks at him, and Daniel shrugs, continuing. “I mean, ‘The Farm’… what is that. And why the change of heart now? Why not do the same as Armand did, hunting criminals for sport?”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth, chasing the earlier taste. “Who says I’m not?”

Daniel tilts his head, taking a sip, but just waits.

Louis sighs, soundlessly. “I…” He hesitates, and then continues, tone stronger. “I have been weak, for so long.” He swallows. “Been kept weak, for so long, too. Docile. Easy to handle.” He presses his lips together, for a long moment. “I’m done being ... that.”

Lestat’s voice, in his head: ‘You’re a challenge every sunset, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ He smiles softly.

Daniel watches him for a long moment, and then smirks. “You seemed plenty strong when you smashed Armand into the wall?”

Louis cackles, nodding. “Yeah, that was…” He lifts his eyebrows, shaking his head. “He just wouldn’t stop, you know. When it all clicked into place, he wouldn’t stop. He kept on lying.” Louis inhales, deeply, and then exhales, with a rush. “I was so angry.” He licks his lips. “Am, still.” He inclines his head, just a bit. “Getting better though.”

“Yeah?” Daniel purses his lips. “Why?”

Louis blinks, slowly, shaping the words as they come to him. “I’m finally alive again.”

******

Louis retires to his own suite shortly before sunrise, weirdly elated and strangely exhausted by the night of going through papers they were sent by the Talamasca.

Legal documents, mostly, deeds to houses, as well as some remote properties.

No traces of ‘Sebastian Melmoth’, but surprisingly many close to where Algerich used to live. Louis reaches for the lid of the traveling trunk with the locks on the inside, and closes it, vowing to go by the first two tomorrow night.

******

“You’re weirdly confident that no-one will come by and open your trunk while you sleep. Given that you’re not sun-proof yet, I mean.”

Louis frowns, shooting a look at Daniel, who seems pale today. “It has locks on the inside.”

Daniel coughs, pushing a shaking hand to the table until the shaking subsides somewhat before answering. “Both the Talamasca and I know where you sleep. Isn’t that…” He shoots a look over the rim of his glasses at Louis. “A bit risky?”

Louis exhales, mulling on the subject for a moment. “Maybe.”

Daniel cackles. “Makes you feel alive?”

Louis smiles, waggling his eyebrows. “Maybe?” He sobers slowly, and then clicks his tongue. “But in all seriousness, I do not think there is any danger.” He looks at Daniel. “Not from mortals.” He nods at the papers in front of Daniel, and the glowing laptop screen. “That might be different if and when we actually publish the book.” He looks out of the window, and then changes the subject. “I want to go by the properties closest.”

Daniel leans back, nodding. “Good idea. A small apartment, and a … warehouse?” He looks up. “You can tell me what you found after.”

Louis frowns. “You intend to stay here?”

Daniel cackles. “I am in no shape to go out vampire hunting tonight, Louis.” He lifts his eyebrows, a challenge to his tone. “You said you would talk to me on the phone and fly in Fareed.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “He will be flying in later tonight.”

Daniel nods. “Sent your plane?”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth. “No, his … maker is bringing him over.” His smile turns a bit brittle. “For some younger ones the longer flights can be…” He shivers, phantom sensations or rushing air running through him. The image of Lestat, something about it… He clears his throat. “In any case, please stay in the apartment for your treatment then.” He nods at Daniel, and gets up, turning towards the door.

Daniel calls after him. “Louis, is he here?”

Louis stops, literally halting mid-step. “What?”

Daniel exhales, through his nose, his voice surprisingly soft. “You said you could feel him.” A short pause, in which Louis can only hear the rushing of blood in his ears. “Is he here?”

Louis swallows, literally deflating while coming to full halt.

The word is hard to shape. “No.”

Daniel hums. “No need to check the properties then.”

Louis closes his eyes, lowering his head, just a bit. “Probably not.”

He can hear Daniel turn back to his laptop. “Let the Talamasca do that. I bet they will, don’t you think? We could talk a bit about your sexual relationship with Armand instead. The kink versus trauma and behavioral patterns discussion.”

Louis pulls a face, his expression conveying his mood. “I need to feed.”

Daniel calls after him, his voice grating on Louis’ nerves, like nails dragged over a blackboard. “Don’t run away again, Louis!”

******

He stops himself, after the third victim.

Sitting down against a brick wall, reaching and reaching for the feeling, and … feeling nothing.

He makes himself go back when he feels Seth’s presence, somewhere, close to the river.

******

Seth is waiting for him in front of Daniel’s hotel room, the ancient vampire watching him come closer with an almost passive expression, the dark eyes luminous and yet fathomless deep.

Louis swallows, nodding in greeting, as always vaguely unsettled by the drum of the heart. And the sheer power, oozing from the dark-haired man in front of him.

Seth nods back at him, voice quiet, reaching up to push a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes. “He sensed us, before we entered.”

Louis’ eyes flicker to the the still closed door, where he can hear Fareed and Daniel converse quietly. “It’s taking?”

Seth shrugs, the nonchalant gesture looking weird somehow, despite the modern clothes he wears, jeans and a sweater. “As expected. His previous exposure helps, of course.”

Louis nods, remembering, vividly. “Of course.” He inhales, deeply. “I thank you for coming. Despite the recent…” He hesitates, not sure how to put it. His eyes find Seth’s. “Did you know?”

Seth watches him, calmly. “You were bored of life. He kept you safe. It seemed… fitting.”

Louis’ nostrils flare. “You didn’t think to interfere?”

Seth tilts his head, his voice still calm and gentle. “To what end? Would you have believed, without the proof?” Louis looks away, pressing his lips together. Seth continues after a moment. “Truth is always subjective, and objective. It cannot be absolute.” There is a vague movement of air, as Seth pushes off the wall he had been leaning against. “And I am not your maker.”

Louis scoffs, looking back at him, the words coming with a bitter taste. “And so what, so you had no legal incentive to interfere?”

Seth watches him, calmly. “You entered the relationship willingly, knowing who he was. What he was, for centuries. What did you think would happen?”

Louis rears back, anger and pain making him stumble.

He presses the words out. “I did not know he…” He falls silent, pressing his fingers against his face for a long moment.

When he speaks again it is with tightly controlled emotions. “Be that as it may, I still don’t understand why…”

Seth quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”

Louis spreads his hands. “Why do you let some things happen? Why do you let some make the rules? Why do you let the covens…” He shakes his head, feeling exhausted suddenly, despite all the blood coursing through him. “Just… why.”

Seth smiles very gently, his tone carrying humor. “Who are we to judge another?”

Louis grimaces. “Should there not be some divine laws? Some… morality? The ten comman….”

Seth tilts his head, interrupting him. “You are applying a religion that only came to exist thousands of years after I have lived.” He steps closer, putting his hand onto Louis’ chest. It feels like marble, pushing at him, just lightly. “Besides. That is what some covens did. For hundreds of years.” Seth lifts his eyebrows. “That is what Armand did, for centuries. Follow supposedly divine laws.”

Louis exhales, admitting the point. “So there will never be someone who enforces laws? Some kind of rulings? Some kind of… accountability?”

Seth clicks his tongue, a shadow passing over his face. “Once there was. Maybe there will be again some day.” He seems to be on the verge of saying something else, but turns his face towards the door instead. “They are done. Let us go inside.”

He turns, opening the door quietly, his shoes barely audible on the wooden floor.

Louis’ gaze drops to them, the sight of white Nike sneakers on a being several thousand years old making him shiver.

Daniel’s call makes him look up. “Hey Louis, Fareed tells me that there was a big commotion at a certain tower in Dubai the other day… I wonder what that was about.”

Louis scoffs, and then pulls a face, shaking his head. “Probably forgot his sun glasses.”

Daniel cackles. “They did look expensive.” He looks up at Fareed, who is removing the needle from his arm at that moment. “Thank you Dr. Fareed. Now that you’re actually here, do you want to tell me about your life as well?”

Fareed blinks, and then looks up at Seth, sharing a look that is definitely amused. He lifts his eyebrows, turning away from Daniel. “My presence is not subject to inquiry.”

Daniel hums, turning his head to look at Seth. “What about you? Any insights about vampiric life in general?”

Seth watches him, head slightly tilted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I am still discovering those, Mr. Molloy.”

“Really.” Daniel’s voice is a drawl. “Your skin looks different than theirs… how come?”

Louis interjects, words playful but underlaid with a definite warning. “Isn’t it rude to talk ask about physical characteristics, Daniel?”

Daniel cackles, waving his hand. “Ahhh, Louis, you didn’t bring me in to be polite.”

Louis grimaces a bit, but Seth chuckles, interjecting, his tone indulgent. His eyes find Louis’. “Ah, I can see the appeal.” He turns to Fareed, watches him pack his bag back up. “Ready, beloved?”

Fareed nods, then turns to Daniel, his voice serious. “Please call me, should any side-effects occur.” He turns to Louis, nods, and then steps up to Seth, right into his arms. “Ready.”

Seth smiles, a true smile that lights up his whole face, while his arms go round Fareed, carefully, gently, tightly. And then there is a sudden gust of wind, papers on the table being lifted by it, the drapes of the open window billowing, and they’re gone.

Daniel’s voice is dry. “Impressive.”

Louis swallows, with a shrug, feeling strangely unmoored by the emotion he just saw in the ancient’s gaze. “Just speed.”

Daniel’s hums, watching him. “You really miss Lestat.”

Louis bites his lips to stop from asking ‘what makes you say that’, knowing fully well what Daniel likely saw on his face, his tone sharper than intended. “That is why we’re here?”

Daniel sighs through his nose, leaning back on the couch. “How does this work. Between beings so different in power I mean.” He nods at the open window. “There is a difference of how many thousands of years between Seth and Fareed, right? But Seth indulges him, flies him around, touches him like he’s made out of bone china…”

Louis crosses his arms, and then shrugs. “Finding someone you love in all the vast loneliness of existence is a great gift.” He licks his lips. “Seth knows how it is to feel…” He hesitates, and then continues, after a short pause. “Loneliness.”

Lestat’s words, in his ear. You take away the loneliness, Louis.

He swallows.

“Have you experienced this loneliness?”

Louis frowns, turning towards Daniel. He opens his mouth to say “yes”, but closes it again, shifting to his other foot. “I…” Flashes of Lestat’s gaze, when he talked about it. Flashes of Armand, with an empty gaze as well.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, admitting. “No, I don’t think I have.”

Daniel watches him, eyes narrowed. “Think you will?”

Louis cackles, on a shuddering breath. “Hopefully not.” He uncrosses his arms, spreading them a bit. “The loneliness is what kills a vampire.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Or so I heard.”

“Hmmm.” Daniel nods, and then rolls his shoulders, pushing up from the couch afterwards. “The stuff they gave me really has to be a different cocktail than the one my doctor gives me. I feel much better after.” He shoots a look at Louis. “You don’t happen to know what’s in it, do you.”

Louis smiles, gently, evading with truth. “Not in detail.”

“Mh hmmm.” Daniel nods, with a smirk, obviously not believing him. “So. Lestat is not here. Or at least close. How about some cross checking and further explanations?”

Louis hesitates, and then nods, stepping over to the table. “And then?”

Daniel looks at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Can you fly, Louis?”

Louis hesitates, and then shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Daniel smirks, pulling out a chair. “Looking forward to it?”

Louis frowns, settling across from him, fingertips pushing at the papers on the table. “Not really. I mean…” He shakes his head, with a smile, pushing the tip of his tongue to one fang. “Of course the possibility seems fantastic, but those who can… are often loathe to do it. Apparently it’s a frightening gift.” He inhales, nodding at Daniel. “Why do you ask?”

Daniel shrugs, pulling his laptop closer. Louis notices for the first time that it is a brand new model, coming alive silently when Daniel opens it. “If you could fly you could go out on scouting trips for the addresses that are more remote.” He pulls up a paper. “Like this one, more to the north, at the border to Uruguay.” Daniel reaches out, to type something into his browser. “Looks like it’s almost in the jungles.”

Louis frowns. “Yeah, but why would Lestat go to the jungles?”

Daniel shrugs, looking at him. Louis notices he is not wearing his glasses. “Similar climate as in the hurricane the other day?”

Louis snorts, and then considers it for a moment, with a shake of his head. “No, I bet it must have more personal reasons.” He snaps his fingers. “Can you cross check if Argerich’s family maybe had a vacation home there?”

Daniel blinks, and then tilts his head. “I can try, but it was the 40s Louis, and I doubt if anyone kept that kind of record.”

Louis purses his lips. “Lestat must have had some incentive to get a property there?”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “Lestat was alive in the 40s, and recovering from a murder attempt. He probably had little else to do than read the news… Maybe he heard of little wonder Marguerite Argerich, giving her first concert at the wee age of five.”

Louis exhales, and then points his fingers, following the train of thought. “Maybe he decided to come down here to see her, too. I mean, he had intended to come to Buenos Aires anyways, maybe…” He trails off, his thoughts racing and yet sluggish. “Maybe she wasn’t here when he finally arrived, maybe that is why he followed her  to a vacation spot?”

Daniel nods slowly, and then comments, voice dry. “A lot of maybes.”

Louis answers, somewhat testily. “Well, he’s not in Buenos Aires, so…”

Daniel hums, watching him. “No, he’s not.” He exhales, and then turns back to his screen. “So according to Google Maps, the nearest town to that property, Concepción del Uruguay, is about 3 and a half hours away from Buenos Aires, by car.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Do they have an airport?”

Daniel types for a moment, and then his eyes come up. “Nope.”

Louis nods slowly, and then shrugs, pulling out his phone. “I’ll organize a car for tomorrow night.”

Daniel hums. “Good. I’ll stay here and write the interview up.”

Louis frowns, weirdly ticked off by the comment. “You don’t want to come along?”

Daniel smiles. “No. Bugs, car drives, back aches… you can call me when you’re there.” Daniel looks at Louis, his eyes sly. “Besides… you tell me you want me there when you find Lestat?”

Louis scoffs, but he cannot help but smile, looking away. “I mean, I’m not gonna jump him when I see him?”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow, tone sly. “Yeah? Why not?”

Louis snorts, feeling his fangs pulse. “Because it’s not…” He trails off.

Daniel lifts his head, prompting. “It’s not…?”

Louis hesitates, and then shrugs, tone low. “I don’t know. We are not at that point yet. I… cannot really narrow it down.” He presses his lips together. “So many things happened. He is not well. I…” He shrugs again.

Daniel nods. “You don’t feel it’s right.”

Louis nods after a moment. “I need to … clear up some things first. With him, I mean. Everything else…” He trails off.

Daniel nods again, and then quirks an eyebrow. “And, of course, taking advantage of someone when they’re not alright…”

Louis glowers at him. “Ha ha.”

Daniel looks at him, with a small smile. “I’m serious though. I mean, not particularly with reference to you here, but I was wondering: how do mortals actually consent to your life style when turned? I mean, they cannot really know, right? And for example Claudia was not asked. Must’ve pissed her off.”

Louis swallows, fidgeting for a moment. “It certainly didn’t help.”

Daniel leans back, watching him. “Did she know? That it was you who made Lestat turn her against his better judgment I mean?”

Louis grimaces, swallowing down bile.

He shakes his head, his voice raspy. “No, I mean… we never talked about that night. Not really.” He smiles, a smile that bleeds. “I did not want to remember. I did not want to acknowledge…” He sniffs, picking at the wooden structure of the table for a moment. “She was my daughter.”

Daniel’s voice is quiet. “And his.”

Louis closes his eyes. “Yes.” He sniffs. “I mean, she heard some of the argument. She wrote about it. But not… not…” He grimaces. “She never asked why I did not…” He heaves a sigh, the past churning in his gut. “I didn’t pay attention to how Lestat did some things. They were just tricks, you know? I … accepted them. I did not quite remember how he turned me. Not the details. The feeling, the aftermath, the promise. Oh yes.” He licks his lips. “But not the technicalities.” He cackles, reopening his eyes. “It didn’t even occur to me that I would have to drain her.” He swallows.

Daniel watches him. “Why didn’t you ask though? And then do it yourself?”

Louis blinks, really slowly, the world turning red.

The words are hard to shape. “I… I didn’t want… I…” He breaks off, working his jaw, before he tries again. “I don’t really know. I was afraid, and frantic, and … I knew Lestat could do it. I knew he would know how. I knew…” Louis hesitates, and then finishes, with the stone dropping into is stomach. ”… he would.”

He would.

Silence.

Outside, there is the honking of cars, and laughter of passer-bys, down below on the street.

Daniel’s heart is beating evenly, squishy little pumps, da-dum, da-dum.

Louis’ chair screeches over the floor as he gets up.

Starts walking up and down the room.

Starts ranting before he even knows he is speaking.

“And the worst thing is I know he was right, and I knew it then, too. But I wanted it so much, I wanted her to see me as an angel. Oh, her being a daughter to us was a plus, her being the bandaid to a shitty marriage as you called it was a plus, but really, what I really wanted was her to see me and to see me as good, and pure, and…” He presses his fists to his temples, shaking his head. “My mother had seen the devil in my eyes and her statement fused with the guilt and fear in me, the fear that she could be right, that what we were was evil incarnate. And I wanted something good! Something pure! A life saved! I wanted to bring life, not take it. I wanted to save, not kill.” He comes to a halt, staring against the wall, his voice a whisper. “I wanted to save, just one of the girls without home. Not put her on the street. Give her a home, and not… a job.”

Bile, on his tongue, dissolving any more words.

Silence again, for a long moment.

It’s a pregnant one, filled with lots of words unsaid, swallowed down. With the trepidation of hearing them, too.

Louis forces himself to speak again, the red world wavering, and then dropping down his cheek, carrying all the pain in the world. “I felt Madeleine’s terror and fear, and anguish, and terrible, horrific pain, when she burned.” He inhales, shakily, turning to face Daniel, uncaring for his tears. “She was my fledgling, and I wasn’t there when she died. I did not look when Lestat turned Claudia. I did not see Claudia die. But I knew… I… I knew…” He swallows, his throat clicking, the words refusing to come, but he forces them, feeling light-headed. “I knew he saw her die. I knew looked at her. I knew…” He closes his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew he felt Claudia die.”

Daniel’s voice is quiet, gentle, pushing, just a bit. “And?”

Louis sobs, inhaling, turning his face to the ceiling. “And I…” He closes his eyes, and lets the tears come, the echo of his own screams, impossible to contain. “And I felt him die. I felt his… emotions.”

Daniel’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. “How did he feel, Louis?”

Louis opens his eyes again, the word on his tongue, vacillating wildly between accusation and admission. “Betrayed.”

He swallows, his whole face crumpling. “And… relieved.”

Chapter Text

The road is sparsely lit and sparsely used, at least at this hour.

His cars headlights are the sole ones, for miles on end.

It is 3am, and Louis is mostly driving by the light of the moon and his own vampiric vision, having opted to leave the same night after all, instead of waiting for the next.

Something is driving him, driving him forward.

Something urgent.

He almost scoffs.

What could be urgent, for us? Or… for me?

He turns the radio on when he reaches the crossing of RN20 with RN14, taking the exit to drive up north. Pop music on the radio, soft pop music, and he tries to relax into it, the words inconsequential and shallow, but what he needs now. Something supporting, uplifting, unexciting.

He lets his mind drift, the drive half automatic now, on mental auto-pilot.

How different driving is now, with the car helping with every aspect.

He smirks, remembering the bumpy roads, and equally bumpy rides, and both him and Lestat having the times of their lives choosing new cars, again and again. ‘Geeking out’ it would likely be called today, a shared little hobby, faster, faster, more horsepower. The smile slips a bit as he remembers certain events, Jonah, a coffin nose. Still, there are also memories of many, many trips, together, to hotels, to other towns, then with Claudia.

Claudia.

Smiling in the afternoon sun of Madeleine’s vision.

The love Madeleine had felt for her had driven Louis mad.

Not with jealousy, no. Not really. But to feel it? And to think he would never again… and yet there had been this churning in his stomach. That wobbly feeling beneath his feet. The sheer impossibility to find hope and satisfaction in what he had.

Claudia, shoved into the rat box.

He grimaces, shying away from the thought.

He knows there’s more to it, more to the… rat box. Did they lose time, then? What happened? He barely has any memory of being beaten, his eye throbbing.

Dirty knives and saws cutting open their ankles, so they couldn’t run.

Practical.

He bares his teeth for a moment, and then lets it go, with an effort. The coven had been running on their own dynamic, as always, led by… He licks his lips, swallowing the name down.

No use. It is no use. Not anymore. Only one way to go now. Forward.

He shifts in his seat, straightening up.

Half an hour to go, according to his phone.

And then? What do I do then? Turn and hold my nose into the wind, and try to follow that weird feeling?

He scoffs, tapping his fingers on the wheel, the leather feeling smooth under his fingertips.

The navigation app on his phone has the address of the property the Talamasca gave them, but something in Louis rebels at the thought of it being so easy.

Nothing is ever easy in my life, why would this be?

15 Minutes to go.

Sunrise will be in roughly one and a half hours.

He inhales, shakily, and pushes down the accelerator.

*******

Nothing.

Of course. Of course, of course, of course.

He cackles, kicking a stone, watching it fly into the dark, somewhat disappointed when he does not hear it hit something.

The property he is at is a small house, in-between similar houses, on a mixed street, half business, half residential, not too far from the river. One level, all locked up. Dark.

Not… exactly what he expected.

He grimaces, amending.

No, not expected. Hoped for.

He inhales, and then rolls his shoulders, reaching out and breaking the lock of the front door with a little push. It swings open with a little creak, and he enters, pushing it closed behind him once more.

Silence.

Off to the side, there’s a few rats, and some bugs. The rooms smell dusty, uncleaned, the furniture has been covered with linen. The refrigerator has been cut off from electricity. There is no smell of decay, or mortals.

In other news - no-one’s been here in a long time.

Louis grimaces, again. He can feel a nerve in his jaw twitch.

He leaves the house, hesitating in front of the door, staring at the black Subaru he rented for the drive up here. Reaching, somehow.

Nothing, besides the base awareness of him being closer.

If Lestat is here, he is too far away still.

Louis reaches up, and rubs his eyes with a hand, before getting back into the car with a sigh. It won’t do good to let the car stand in front of the broken door, even if he doesn’t feel like moving it. Or driving away. His feet feel laden, locked to the ground. He can barely lift them.

Sunrise is soon though. He will have to find shelter.

He makes himself drive towards the river, and then turns south, following the avenue down the coast. Life is starting up around him, birds mostly, but a few mortals in their cars, too, coming or going to shifts, some yawning behind their wheels.

The neighborhood thins a bit, becomes wider, the houses more far spread. Off to the side there’s a sign advertising the beach on the upstream island.

Something twists in his stomach.

He pulls the wheel left so hard the tires screech, taking someone’s right of way, to the loud sound of honking horns. He barely hears it, his heartbeat in his ears.

Woods, and and empty road. The road twists left, back north, but the feeling is straight ahead, churning now. He shivers, turning back on the roundabout, and then pulls off the street left, down the grassy slope, turning west between the trees, a little sandy patch opening up before him.

He stops the car between a few trees just south of it, hidden by the foliage for the most part, jumping out of the car, his breath short.

Nothing, there is nothing there. Just a small beach, between trees, and the dark river Brazo de la China beyond it. This is Isla del Puerto, he knows that. He has looked at the maps before. Beyond is Isla Cambacuá, and just across on the same line is Isla Garibaldi.

Garibaldi. Guiseppe Garibaldi. Italian revolutionist. Right.

Lestat had talked about Garibaldi once. Something about Italy, something about revolution, something about his mother, something…

Louis is wading into the waters before he can stop himself.

The water is muddy, and the current is quite strong. And it is cold, but Louis ignores it, just as he ignores the sky ahead lighting up slowly.

He struggles at land on the other side, cursing his leather jacket and the shoes he chose, pushing through the trees and foliage. The sky is blue now, turning orange, glowing, in a way that makes his eyes hurt. He should dig himself in, he knows that, with the base instinct of his very blood, recoiling.

But he cannot, rushing the last few meters to what he knows will be another sandy beach, guided by that churning feeling, this feeling, this liquid feeling… this feeling which means he has to hurry.

The sun breaches the horizon, a ray of molten brilliance touching gold, burning it to cinder.

A vision of gold, and a silhouette, for just an instant.

Beautiful, breathtaking, horrific.

No sound, no sound, other than his gasped breaths, and then he barrels into Lestat, who is just sitting there, face turned into the sun, skin darkened and smoking where the sun touched it.

They tumble into the sand, into the near water, and Louis grows, and starts digging, with one hand, his other arm and hand like a vice around Lestat’s neck, uncaringly dragging him along, down, down into the ground and towards drier earth, ignoring the pain, ignoring the panic, ignoring… everything.

Eventually, the pain subsides, throbbing, in the darkness.

He cannot breathe, his mouth is pressed closed against the sand surrounding them, his eyes squeezed shut as well.

He knows he will have to dig out some sand out of the healed wounds come night.

But it doesn’t matter, at all, because his nose is pushing up under Lestat’s jaw, and there is a pulse, thumping against it, echoing his own, dragging him along.

And there are arms, surrounding him, holding him, as if he would break.

*******

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?”

It’s not what he wanted to say. It’s not how he wanted to open their conversation. And he most certainly did not want to fall back into his old accent.

Definitely not.

And yet.

It also does not help that Lestat just smiles at him, too serenely. That his eyes seem… vacant.

Louis grimaces, reopening wounds to dig out the dirt. He shoots a look at Lestat, who should be doing the same, but doesn’t move, just watches him, calmly. His hair seems silver in the moonlight, silver and black.

Louis closes his eyes, counts to ten, while he listens to any sign of Lestat moving away, but there isn’t.

He licks his lips. “What…” He trails off again, presses his lips together. He knows what Lestat was doing here, doesn’t he. He knows the why, too. Then again, wasn’t this whole stunt supposed to prove that he is alive? How does that work with a fucking suicide?

He gnashes his teeth together, and then looks up, and into Lestat’s eyes, the punch of the gaze taking his breath. The motion is immediate, involuntary, he pushes to his knees, helplessly, with a sob, and over to where Lestat sits, knees drawn up, watching him, Louis’ arms going round him again, drawing him in, their legs entwining.

His nose pushes into the hair at Lestat’s temple, his lips trembling against the soft skin.

The words are a whisper now, a sigh. “What were you thinking… “ cher. He swallows the word down, his eyes filling with tears.

The anger is gone now, leaving only emptiness and longing and desperation behind, a maelstrom of pain and love. Lestat’s head turns, just a bit, and he starts to sing a song, low key and under his breath, barely more than a rumble, in french. “Dansons la capucine - Y a pas de pain chez nous..” Louis shivers, with a frown, one hand coming up under Lestat’s jaw, feeling the sound’s vibrations in his throat. “Y en a chez la voisine - Mais ce n’est pas pour nous - You!!!”

Lestat giggles suddenly, his head leaning back, finding Louis’ gaze. “Mais ce n’est pas pour nous…”

Louis sniffs, shaking his head. “What is, Lestat? What isn’t for us?”

Lestat smiles, gently, and then nestles in, is forehead coming down to lay it into the junction of Louis’ shoulder and throat, against Louis’ pulse.

His answer is a breath, tickling Louis’ skin. “Happiness.”

Louis’ squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the tears rise.

He inhales, shakily, tightening his arms. “That’s not true” love “, that’s not how it works.” He swallows, forcing the words. “We can be happy.” He opens his eyes, stares unseeing at the moon, his voice wobbly. “We were happy…” then. There was a time when we were happy. He swallows.

Lestat shifts in his arms, sighs against his throat. “Were we, Louis?”

Louis inhales, nodding, almost stupidly relieved to hear Lestat say his name, feeling Lestat’s head push against his jaw. “We were. Before…” His face crumbles, and the world blurs, in red.

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling Lestat shift, and then lips, kissing the tears off his face. Moving gently, carefully, little pecks that destroy any armor Louis had left.

It’s like floodgates opening, he is sobbing before he can help himself, crying so hard he cannot think, drawing breaths in huge gulps that seem to choke, his fists locked into the sweater Lestat wears, and he is pressing his face into the side of Lestat’s face now, bawling, like a little child.

Years and years of suppressed pain, anger and loss stream through him, disappointment, and regret mixing in. The fight for his mother’s love, and respect. The need to hide who he was, then. The disappointment in Grace, as unfair as that may have been then, but felt, felt it was, projected onto her, on the very real fear she showed him because of Benjamin. The hope, and then the disillusionment of Lestat’s gift. Claudia. Her smile, her pain. Her death.

His anger, rage, and the emptiness, and then…

He starts talking before he is really aware of it, rushed words, with sniffs, and broken hiccups in-between, mumbled against the shell of Lestat’s ear, while Lestat’s fingers press into his back, are curled around his shoulder blades, at once supporting and keeping.

“I knew… I knew it was wrong. I was so angry. I wanted you to interfere! I wanted you to stop me. I wanted you to say something. I wanted to lash out at you. I wanted you to give me a reason to fight you. I wanted us to have it out, I wanted us to find a way, somehow, I did not understand, did not …”

He grimaces, in pain, remembering what Sam Barclay revealed to him, the pain muting him, for a long moment. “I did not stop to think. I could not. If I stopped to think then the pain of her would be back, and I couldn’t. I muted everything, did not think. I did not think. I…”

He inhales deeply, trying to smell Lestat beneath the wet sand that clings to them both. “I went with him. Distractions. Galleries. Money. Boredom. I ran off, fucked around, killed. Again, and again. I wanted to trigger something, someone, be found out, be perceived…” He breaks off, breathing heavily.

“He always cleaned up after me. Waited, patiently, till I had run out of steam, till I broke down, disillusioned. Till I realized…” He breaks off, his eyes squeezed shut. “Till I realized you wouldn’t come.”

He suddenly shakes Lestat, only now realizing he has him by one shoulder and a firm grip in the neck as he does so, unable to help it.

The words sound as broken as he feels, more a statement than question. “Why didn’t you come.” He sniffs, drawing back a bit, to look at Lestat, who watches him, with a weirdly forlorn expression on his face.

Louis shakes his head, and then shakes Lestat again, just a bit. “Lestat… say something.”

Lestat frowns, a little frown, and then that tilt of his head, the small tilt that he had done in New Orleans as well, a tilt that sends a shiver down Louis spine.

Lestat’s voice is soft, vaguely apologetic. “What should I say, Louis?”

Louis swallows. “Where were you, all those years?” He licks his lips, prompting. “After the theater burned? After the tower? The… dungeon?”

Lestat’s head jerks, his eyes flickering away, the nails pressing into Louis’ skin, through the clothes for just a moment.

His voice carries a shiver. “The theater burned…”

Louis nods, trying to catch his gaze. “Yes, it burned. I burned it. Where were you, after the tower?”

Lestat blinks, a very slow blink, that does not clear the clouds in his gaze. “After the tower…”

Louis shifts a bit, to look at him more squarely. “After the tower. Where were you?”

Lestat’s frown deepens, his eyes finding Louis’. “I was healing.” He says it, matter-of-fact, in a tone that carries wonder, which in turn makes Louis’ stomach turn.

He tries not to let it color his voice. “… You were healing?”

Lestat blinks again, then one of his hands moves from Louis’ back and over his shoulder, down his arm, to the hand that is holding Lestat’s neck. “The fire.”

Louis stares at him, trying to understand, his mind racing. His hand twitches beneath Lestat’s fingers.

When he speaks again, his voice is toneless, flat. “What fire.” There is a block of ice, at the bottom of his spine, expanding, slowly.

Lestat tilts his head again, to the other side, the gaze still oh so empty.

He sounds vaguely proud, definitely resigned, the emphasis clear. “You have the blood of Akasha in you.”

Louis blinks, vaguely remembering a comment of Lestat having that blood. Of himself conjuring the flames, in the palm of his hand.

He stares at it now, stares at the place where he touches Lestat’s throat.

The throat that has such soft skin. Such … pink skin, too.

A shudder passes through him.

He exhales, through his nose, before making himself ask. “Did I… Did I burn you?”

A smile flickers over Lestat’s face, as he leans in, to whisper, with a wink. “The fire burned me.”

Louis grimaces, furious, and then snorts, though it is followed by a sob, as his eyes refill with bloody tears. “Seriously though, Lestat, did I…”

Lestat looks tired suddenly, his eyes a bit clearer, the hand that touched Louis’ coming up to caress Louis’ jaw. “The pain. It had to go somewhere.” A slow blink. “I understand.”

Louis stares at him, horrified, his mind static.

The words scratch his throat. “I burnt you?”

Lestat shrugs, carefully not shaking Louis’ hands off. “You… exploded with fire and pain. I think…” He tilts his head again, this empty expression washing over it, the expression Louis is starting to hate, with a passion. “I think it was an accident.”

Louis scoffs, trying to swallow down the bile on his tongue. “An accident.” Of course.

Lestat shrugs again, turning his head back to look at Louis. His skin truly looks quite rosy, with a sheen as if healing scar tissue was laid over it. “Armand said it was an accident.”

Louis cannot help himself, he starts to laugh, sounding deranged to his own ears. “Oh, did he now.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head once, the mirth burning in his gut. “What else did he say?” He reopens his eyes, to watch Lestat watch him.

He prompts, lifting his eyebrows.“Hmmm? Lestat?” He swallows, his tone clipped now, hard, though he tries not to show it. “What else did he say?”

Lestat’s eyes flicker, the pupils wide. “That I gave you to him.” A small shrug, and Lestat seems small suddenly, frail. “But then… I promised to.”

Louis’ mouth twitches, his lips a hard line. “The bargain. That’s why he brought me to you at all.” He cackles suddenly. “So, did me…. exploding with rage and fire take him by surprise as well?” He feels like throwing up.

Lestat laughs softly, but then sobers, weighing his head, swaying a bit on his knees, his gaze faraway, obviously remembering. “I think so. I didn’t see you again.”

Louis withdraws the hand from Lestat’s throat, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I… I don’t remember what happened after.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I obviously don’t even remember that correctly, but…” He sniffs, feeling tired suddenly, oh so tired. “I don’t remember what happened after the tower. Immediately after I mean. I always thought it must have been memory, or … trauma.” He swallows, the click of his throat loud between them. “But I cannot remember, can I. Because he changed that memory.” He blinks, very slowly. “I remember leaving you there. Kissing Armand. Choosing Armand.” He exhales, shakily. “I remember… choosing Armand.”

Lestat blinks, a weird little smile on his face. “I don’t remember that, mon cher.”

Louis shakes his head, refocusing on him. “What do you remember?”

Lestat frowns, staring out over the water for a moment. “Pain. Agony.” A small shrug. “I crawled back home.”

Home.

I am she, she is me.

Louis swallows, feeling like crying again, but swallows it down, with an effort.

Lestat turns his face to him, winking, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “It took a while.”

Louis closes his eyes.

Lestat starts to sing again, the second verse of the song now, slow, and in a low voice. “Dansons la capucine… Y’a pas de vin chez nous… Y’en a chez la voisine… Mais ce n’est pas pour nous… You!!!”

Louis shakes his head, and then puts his right hand fingers over Lestat’s mouth, making him fall silent again. “Please, lo…” He chokes on the word, trying again. “Please, don’t.”

Lestat mumbles against his fingers. “Beautiful Louis. Always feeling for others.”

Louis’ face crumbles. “Didn’t feel for you?”

Lestat’s head tilts again, with a small frown, and a weirdly angelic smile, that pushes against Louis’ fingers, which then touch his front teeth, for just a moment. “Did you not?”

Louis stares at him, unable to answer. Millions of little moments rush through his mind, the good, the bad, the ugly… the divine. Laughter, joy, anger. Delight. Contentment, depression. Everything. There had been everything.

He blinks, trying to find the words, but suddenly there is the roaring of a motor, and a boat rushes by, in the dark, headlights up the river, sending waves up the shore.

And driving home where they are.

Louis closes his eyes, counts to ten, and then makes his voice firm, conveying a conviction he doesn’t feel. “Lestat - we’ll get up now, get back over to the town, get my car, and find a hotel.” He reopens his eyes, finding Lestat’s evasive blue ones. “Because we need to dig the sand out of your skin, and get some clean clothes.”

Lestat blinks, and then sighs, very softly, eyes flickering over Louis’ face. “We could also dig deep, and dream…” He smiles suddenly, broadly, teeth flashing, making Louis’ fingers shift to his chin. “Leave the world behind, for a while.”

Louis huffs, half annoyed, half… tempted.

He shrugs, watching Lestat’s face closely. “I just woke up from a dream, l…” Again, the word that chokes him. He presses his lips together, before inhaling deeply. “Lestat, we both…” He smiles suddenly, broadly, feeling a bit of the weight dropping away. “We both need to live again. Leave the past behind.” He swallows, softening his voice. “Find ourselves again.”

Lestat hums, eyes heavily lidded, his voice a low rumble, but Louis is actually relieved that he follows the thought. “Find happiness again?”

Louis grins a bit, and then nods. “Yes.” He sobers, reaching for the pain, and the anger, letting it simmer. “That’s nothing that can be fixed… immediately.”

Lestat hums again, and then moves in, to hug Louis, face nestled into his neck.

He breathes the words against Louis’ skin, making the hairs on Louis’ body stand up with a shiver. “She says she’s happy…”

Louis sniffs, reaching up to pet Lestat’s head, run his fingers through the matted hair.

He needs three tries to say her name. “Claudia?”

Lestat nods, just a bit. “She said I should come, and that you would follow…” He lifts his head suddenly, his eyes locking with Louis’, expression almost wild. “I thought that if I could find the door…”

Louis scoffs, feeling decidedly wobbly again. “The door?”

“To her…” Lestat shrugs, and then nestles in again, his arms now around Louis’ lower back. “I wanted to know if she’s really happy.” The next words are almost inaudible. “She deserves to be happy.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, suppressing the sob, his voice shaking. “She does.” He shakes his head, unseeing, pressing Lestat to himself for a moment. “Why here, Lestat? Why… now? Why after…” He opens his eyes, staring at the pale moon. “I just don’t understand.” He shrugs, shaking his head, voice now carrying his frustration. “Why are we here???”

He can feel Lestat inhale against his skin, and then push up, slowly.

His hands glide from Louis’ back to his waist, resting there, their knees entwined. Lestat’s head is lowered, the eyebrows knitted.

Louis pushes, one more time. “Lestat?” He waits till Lestat raises his eyes, the blue eyes seeming clear enough. “Tell me.”

Lestat blinks, and then shrugs, and then the gaze breaks, a red tear dropping down his face. “I…” He inhales, shudderingly. “We wanted to go to Buenos Aires back then...” Louis nods, waiting, seeing Lestat’s lower lip tremble. “… I wanted us to be happy again. I thought coming here would help.”

Louis frowns, shaking his head once. “Coming here would help?”

Lestat exhales, with a sigh. “Sometimes the wilderness helps. Back then there was more wilderness here… and yet Buenos Aires was so close. This seemed like a good compromise. We could do weekend trips. Find the wilderness for our daughter.”

Louis shivers, recalling the vision of Lestat in his mind calling Claudia exactly that, the wilderness.

He shakes his head. “But why here, why now? Why leave New Orleans when I came to you?” He snorts, with a shrug. “Why make me chase after you. Why the island. Why the sun, why…” He breaks off, licking his lips.

Watching Lestat watch him, with that forlorn look on his face.

He sniffs, the realization slow, and sobering. “You don’t know, do you. I mean, why we’re here?”

Lestat’s eyes flicker away, his brows coming together. “Argerich has retired. We would have known her had we come here, back then.”

Louis stares at him, trying to follow. “But… we didn’t, and Argerich lives somewhere else now.”

Lestat smiles at him, beatifically, speaking the words slowly, as if talking to a little child.. “But we are where we should have been!”

Louis stares at him.

Echoing, dumbly. “Should have been...”

Lestat raises his chin, his eyes going up to watch the stars. “And now we brought her here… the music, the influences… the wilderness.” His head lowers suddenly, his eyes finding Louis’ the stare wide and direct. “She can thrive in the music, with Martha, and then hunt, out here.” His eyes flicker away again. “Freedom for the soul, freedom for the body.” His voice drops, almost inaudible now. “She found freedom in the wilderness, too.”

Louis swallows, feeling a headache come on. “She?” He tries to catch Lestat’s gaze again. “Who is she, Lestat?”

Lestat frowns, staring past him. “I wonder if they would have gotten along… both so strong.”

Louis presses his lips together, counting to ten, again. “Fine.” He nods, once, more for himself. “So you came here because you know I would follow, and because you wanted to bring me here.”

Lestat smiles, and winks at him. “And her.”

Louis works his jaw for a moment. “And her. Her being Claudia?” The name passes his lips easier now, the way paved by the irritation he feels.

Lestat nods. “Yes. She’s over there!”

Louis follows the gaze, feeling like crying again, the dark beach being empty.

Of course.

He nods, swallowing, piecing it together, slowly, though it doesn’t make much sense to him. “I see. That’s why you faced the sun, to bring her here?” Lestat nods, watching him, with that serene little smile that Louis hates by now. “And you left New Orleans because you knew I would chase you…?”

“If you were real, yes.” Lestat smirks, and then shrugs. “I used to dream of you, often. You always seemed so real.”

Louis licks his lips. “Yeah, I know something about that.” He swallows. “Why didn’t you wait for me though?” He exhales. “Why face the sun while I was still on the way?”

Lestat hums. “You were not there when she faced the sun either…”

Louis freezes, staring at him.

The words are acid, on his tongue. “And so, what, you thought…”

Lestat lifts his eyebrows. “I thought it only fair.” He shrugs.

“Fair???” The word explodes out of Louis, with a lot more frustration and anger than he wants to show, but it is impossible to contain. “What the fuck do you think was fair there??”

Lestat blinks, obviously not understanding. “Fair for her, Louis. For me to face the sun, I mean… without being able to look at you.” Lestat’s eyes flicker away again, another tear dropping. “She could not look at you either. And she couldn’t look at Madeleine, Madeleine was gone, and so she looked at me…” Lestat trails off with a choked sob, staring into the night.

Louis stares at him, unable to think.

He remembers New Orleans, the way Lestat broke, when he told Louis how Claudia had looked at him.

He finishes the sentence, quietly, gently, understanding all too well after having laid it out for Daniel, too, after admitting, though he suppresses the accompanying memories, for now. “She looked at you, for help.”

Lestat nods, jerkily, and then bends over, crying, shaking with silent sobs. Louis leans forward, holding him, rocking gently.

His words are a whisper, hurting, but cleaning. “But you could not help her.” He doesn’t wait for any reaction, continuing, more speaking to himself. “You had exhausted yourself, by changing my sentence.” I know that now. I know. “ And that was the one trick you could pull, because they would know you could then, and would focus on you. They made you watch, unable to help. They let you watch, to break you.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, allowing the realization. “And they did, didn’t they.” He exhales, feeling memories break up, flickers of dreams that were buried, just out of reach. “And then I did.” He licks his lips, tone exhausted. “You should have said something.” He closes his eyes, feeling Lestat still shake, quietly. “But you were afraid of what he’d do. And so you didn’t.” He snorts, drawing his fingers along the knobs of Lestat’s spine, finishing, with finality. “And then… he told you I was dead.”

He can feel Lestat move, just a bit, his face pressing into Louis’ chest, in a position that had to be far from comfortable.

Lestat’s voice is rough, barbed wire over flesh, while his hands twist sharply into the clothes Louis wears. “And if you’d been, I would have found you again, in the sun.” The shortest pause, the words carried on a breath. “With her.” He shrugs. “And if you were alive… then it would also be fair that I felt some of her pain, even if I would live.”

Louis nods, slowly, feeling like crying again, too, his head throbbing.

He speaks the words, drily, bitterly, understanding at least partially now, and he hates it.

“Win win.”

Chapter Text

The car is gone.

Obviously towed, if the tire tracks are any indication, and the string of curses from Louis’ mouth rings out through the midnight dark, vicious and empty.

Lestat, who has come along willingly enough, is looking at him, with that almost passive, definitely grating expression, that Louis has come to recognize as the missing passion, the missing emotion.

Docile, that’s what Lestat is.

And Lestat is never docile.

Not even when Louis used to comb his hair. Not really.

Louis tries not to let the frustration resurface, the trip over and across the river having been bad enough for his mood, since Lestat - for whatever reason - refused to fly them. And now they’re wet again, and dripping.

Louis sniffs, and then rolls his shoulders, shaking his head once. “Looks like we need to walk.” He exhales, then shoots Lestat a look, narrowing his eyes. “You did not want to stay in that house, did you? I mean… usually…” He blinks, correcting himself with a grimace. “I mean… before… “ He trails off, feeling stupid.

Lestat nods, and then shrugs, eyes flickering away. “I booked a room at Santa Candida.”

Louis frowns, echoing. “Santa Candida?”

Lestat smiles, a small smile. “Beautiful architecture, off the track.” He sobers slowly. “Close to the river.”

Louis nods, his throat feeling thick, and closed off. “You walked here.”

Lestat sniffs, water from his hair dripping down his face. “I knew you’d find me.”

Louis turns away, suddenly furious, but he curbs the emotion, with an effort.

His tone is clipped, deeply sarcastic. “So much about ‘win win’.”

Lestat’s cold fingers touch the nape of his neck. “It would have been just another veil…”

Louis whirls around, jabbing his right hand finger into Lestat’s chest. “The stupid letter. The stupid veil. What were you thinking?” He scoffs, his emotions flaring, the floodgates wide open. “Always on the other side, what the hell do you think would happen when I read that? Hmm? How would I feel? Why…” Why did you feel the need… He brakes off, turning away again, waving his hand, forcefully. “Ugh. Forget it.” You made sure I would long for you, even then.

He can feel Lestat shift behind him, his left palm coming up to touch the middle of Louis’ back, pressing against it, and then Louis can feel his forehead, laid against his nape.

Lestat’s voice is soft. “Face pressed up against your longing.”

Louis bites down on the sob, remembering reading those words, just recently. When was that? It seems ages ago, but it’s only been a few short weeks, hasn’t it. And I longed alright.

He cannot keep his voice from shaking. “I thought you made a stupid dirty joke.” He barks a laugh. “A typical Lestat, something vulnerable hidden in something… “ vulgar. He swallows the word.

He can feel Lestat sigh, the weight of his head shifting a bit, rolling onto Louis’ right shoulder. “Maybe. It’s been so long since I wrote those words…” His voice drops to a whisper. “But now, I just long to know you’re there, and with me, Louis. Everything else…”

Louis closes his eyes, something within himself shifting, finally.

Finishing, with an exhale, while his right hand comes up to hold Lestat’s head to his shoulder, gently. “Everything else will come with time.”

The relief in Lestat’s voice makes him want to weep. “Oui.”

******

He feels alive again after the shower, eyeing the dirty clothes in the corner with a grimace before reaching for the second bathrobe, suddenly very glad that there is a second one, since he wrapped Lestat in the other one, earlier.

It’s weird to have Lestat letting him do what he wants with him. Like a giant doll he’s pliable,  seemingly happy to be there with Louis, in the room he seems to have booked for a few weeks under the alias ‘Rupert Lesander’, not one of the names Louis - or apparently the Talamasca - knew about.

And not the one he said he would use, either.

Louis takes a little scissor from the vanity set that is provided, and then returns to the main room, where Lestat is sitting on the bed, legs stretched out and leaning against the headrest. He is staring into space and Louis takes a moment to watch him, watch the light catch the blue eyes, and the drying, increasingly golden hair.

Words Lestat whispered drift up from memory, in that scene, in the tower… or was it dungeons? Where was that?

Sunlight in your hair. And the blue skies forever fixed in your blue eyes.

He swallows, wondering who Lestat was quoting there, guessing, of course, but they never really talked about it, before he steps closer, watching those eyes focus slowly, and then turn on him.

He watches them brighten, watches life return to them, watches as the corners crinkle.

Watches as a small smile spreads, as Lestat scoots over, just a bit, to make room for him.

He swallows the words on the tip of his tongue down, down, down where they cannot hurt anymore, and sits down next to him, stretching out his legs as well.

Their legs brush, the touch weirdly electric but remote, but still enough to make the hairs on his arms stand up. Make his stomach flip. He stares at their feet, next to each other, light and darker skin, the fine bones, the gleaming nails.

Lestat has small feet for his size, something Louis vaguely recalls him being proud of, something something about that being fashionable when he grew up. They’re not really small though, more or less Louis’ own size. Maybe a size apart. Their toe lines are different, Louis’ make a small bow, while Lestat’s grow smaller in a straight line. Louis stares at them, noticing the shape of the nails, too, square and more round, wondering why he never noticed, in all the years…

But then they always slept in each other’s arms, didn’t they, in the bed, or in the coffin. He always was in Lestat’s arms, and usually laying down when in bed or coffin. They’d never just… sat there. Like now. Usually, then, Lestat would have leaned in, immediately, to start kissing and nibbling Louis’ neck, or kiss him, deeply. Or hug him, cuddle, hold him close. They wouldn’t have wasted the time, or opportunity to feel each other, to have sex, to … make love. Or to just listen to each other’s heartbeat.

Black tar heroine, he’d called it to Daniel. Multiplied by miles to the rings of Saturn and back.

The best he’d ever had.

God.

And: Daniel. Right.

He inhales, holds his breath, and then looks at the scissor in his hand, before he shrugs, stating, more to himself. “Ah, I can call Daniel later.”

He turns his head, to look at Lestat, who is watching him, gaze still and just a little bit vacant, two strands of hair having fallen into his face. His hair is curly, drying by air, and it squeezes something in Louis’ chest to see him like that.

He clears his throat, holding the scissors up. “Let me dig out the healed sand.” He hesitates, and then adds, under his breath. “I know how it hurts when our flesh heals around… something.”

He can feel Lestat watch him, but he is silent, and Louis is grateful, not feeling in the mood to explain the stones in his ankles. Truth be told, he barely feels the pain when he walks anymore, the flaring hot needles a constant companion for decades now after all.

Not for the first time he is also grateful for the silence between their minds, something cursed so often, but appreciated a lot as well, the freedom to just think, without needing to reign in his own thoughts. Or fear that his mind would be influenced, by someone else.

He reaches for the tissue box on the night stand, and then hesitates, before silently beckoning Lestat to lay down with his head on Louis’ lap, looking up, which takes a bit of shuffling and rearranging, but finally Lestat is laying there, half draped over Louis’ legs and looking up, straight into Louis face. And seemingly right into his soul, if the fluttering of Louis’ heart is any indication.

Lestat’s hands are folded, on his stomach, his upper body and middle twisted on the bed, but there is no complaint, no hesitation, just this weird tranquility paired with the slightly empty gaze. It’s unnerving and captivating, a new dimension to Lestat and to them, which makes everything shift into surreality, into the abnormal.

When he had stepped into his plane just those few weeks back he had thought he knew Lestat, knew the truth.

Knew his feelings.

And now? What do I feel now? What… are we?

There is a little dark bump in the soft flesh just under Lestat’s left eye, and he starts there, making little, careful cuts and watches the blood clean the wound, bleeding out the sand and dirt, helping with a bit of tissue here or there, before the wound closes again, the blood reabsorbed, leaving only the dirt and the smudges on the tissue behind. And unblemished skin.

Again and again the ruby red wells up, all around Lestat’s face, little sparkling temptations, that prickle on Louis’ tongue, in phantom taste.

He knows of the siren call of Lestat’s blood. He can feel the spit gather, his stomach tensing.

Armand’s blood, while old and therefore refined and powerful… had not tasted the same. It had always been elation and disappointment in equal measure to drink of him, and coming with the reminder to not do it again anytime soon, not if he wanted to keep his own… He frowns, dismissing the thought, not wanting to think about that now.

He turns his thoughts instead to the difference, in taste and structure, the difference of his own reaction to it.

Lestat’s blood… had always made him rabid. Absolutely driven him wild. First blood, he’s argued about it in his own mind, but now he wonders if there is more to it - or less. The blood of Akasha… what is that, really? And what does it matter?

Why does it matter?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Louis blinks, refocusing on Lestat, who is staring up at him, his eyes surprisingly clear.

Louis shakes his head. “Oh, nothing, just…” He snorts gently, lifting his eyebrows. “Just letting my mind drift.”

“Mhhh.” Lestat’s eyes flicker away, before they return to Louis’. “My mind is fickle these days…” He frowns, the golden brows coming together. “It has been for a while.”

Louis presses his lips together, for a long moment, while digging out some sand in Lestat’s left cheek. “You’ve noticed?”

The corner of Lestat’s eyes crinkle, for just a moment. “Sometimes.” His face sobers, something tranquil passing over it again. “The years bleed into each other. The focus shifts. Sometimes I know who I am. Sometimes I don’t.”

Louis swallows, and then cackles, using the old accent deliberately. “Know somethin’ ‘bout that as well.”

Lestat flashes him a smile, and Louis returns it, leaning over to cut out the dirt out of Lestat’s chin, and then to the side of his mouth. He watches a drop of red pool in the scar at Lestat’s mouth, brilliant red for a moment in time, and then gone, reabsorbed, the skin unmarred.

Such soft skin. Soft and hard, like thin velvet over marble. He used to find the texture so fascinating, the way it would yield to their touch, just a bit, and yet feel cool, and hard.

It’s not cool now, it’s warm despite the fact that neither of them has fed. In fact Louis’ skin is considerably cooler, now that he has noticed.

He frowns, letting his fingers glide over the skin for a moment, feeling the stubble. Feeling the slight warmth.

He frowns. “Why is it still warm?”

Lestat blinks, staring up at him.

His voice is matter-of-fact, soft and deadpan. “Repeated burnings do that. Even our bodies take time to heal.”

Louis’ heart skips a beat.

Repeated burnings.

Louis stares down at him, something twisting in the dark recesses of his mind, something half-remembered, more than willfully forgotten.

His hand trembles a bit when he makes the next cut.

He’s afraid suddenly. “I don’t remember you being burned.” Did I… Do I want to remember?

Lestat’s eyes flicker away, the hands on his stomach twitching.

His shoulders shrug, just a bit, pushing against Louis’ stomach. “It is only fair.”

Louis scoffs, blinking away tears.

Making himself ask. “What happened?”

Lestat’s eyes take on that faraway look again, his face growing pensive. He seems to shy away, though he stays as he is, but there is a distance suddenly, a distance that is palpable.

Louis waits a moment, and then prods. “Lestat?”

Lestat frowns, and then blinks, before he refocuses on Louis. His hands unclasp, and one hand comes up, to touch trembling fingers against Louis’ face.

There is wonder in his voice. “Louis?”

A shiver runs down Louis’ spine.

He nods, trying for a smile. “Yes, Lestat. Tell me what happened.”

Lestat blinks, and then his eyes flicker away again. “I was waiting for you, while she called me.”

Louis stares down at him.

His voice is harder than he wants it to be. “No. Not yesterday. Or the day before. Or whatever. I mean… Paris.”

Lestat’s frown deepens, his face portraying confusion. “Are we in Paris?” He looks around the room. “This doesn’t look like Paris.”

Louis works his jaw, and then takes a clean tissue, to clean the remnants of dirt and sand off Lestat’s face, silently inspecting him from all sides, before lifting a hand to continue there, forcing his hand to be steady. Luckily Lestat had worn clothes, otherwise he would have to go over his whole body, and he is very grateful for that suddenly, his patience thin and patchy, growing more so with every little dab.

He refuses to meet Lestat’s eyes for several minutes, keeping on the task, carefully, methodically, first the one hand, then the other. Re-check the neck and throat. Check the skin beneath his hair. Check the wrists, the part of the chest that was exposed.

When he is done he gets up, letting Lestat glide off his lap, carefully, sending a smile at Lestat who is laying on the bed now, still very much docile all things considered, calmly watching Louis, with an expression of slight wonder, and tranquil passivity etched into it.

Louis forces himself to smile more properly, reaching for the blanket, the need to find some distance, now, burning through him. “I’ll go and get…” He shakes his head, shooting a look at the clock. 2 am. “Something to eat.” He grimaces, amending. “Just a snack. Not the usual… fare.” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay?” He waits till Lestat meets his eyes, prompting, eyebrows raised. “Will you stay here?”

“Bien sûr!” There is a small smile playing on Lestat’s lips. “Where else would I go?” He nestles into the blanket, and then grows completely still, just watching Louis.

Louis, who wants to gnaw on glass. Right.

Louis nods, and then runs a hand down his face. “I… I have to call someone…” I really need to call Daniel. “…and then I will get the snack. Stay here, okay? I’ll be back before morning.”

He turns towards the door, and then hesitates, looking down at his naked feet, and then over at the pile of dirty wet clothes that can be seen through the open bathroom door.

He turns, slowly, somewhat sheepishly, biting his lips, unable to hide the grin. “You don’t happen to have other clothes, do you?”

Lestat blinks, and then life returns to his still form, as he undulates, and then rolls over, to throw his arm over the far edge of the bed. Which makes the bathrobe ride up his legs, the pale, gold-dusted long legs, and which gives Louis a hint… just a hint of what he knows is there, just a few inches up the hem.

Louis closes his eyes, for a moment, trying to regain his breathing.

It’s stupid, really.

He just showered with Lestat. Washed him, and the hair. Rinsed him down. Dried him.

Okay, he might have checked if… memory served. Which it did, thank you very much. But other than that? There had not been much thought.

Other than now.

Louis clears his throat as Lestat pulls up a big box from beneath the bed, lifting it with a broad grin, and a wink. “Tadaa.” The bathrobe is still way up his hips, half open down his chest, and the girdle is loosening, and…

Louis steps closer, takes the box, just to have something else to do.

He does not like the vaguely panicky undertone of his own voice. “Thank you.” He turns to the chair next to the bed, placing the box onto it and lifting the lid.

Inside is a bespoke ensemble, soft gray wool pants and green cashmere, and a pair of leather boots, Chelsea style. Some cotton underwear that seems to have silk mixed in. Comfortable socks.

Louis works his jaw, telling himself he shouldn’t be so relieved.

He shoots Lestat a look, deliberately not looking too closely. “That’s… surprisingly …” He bites down on the word ‘tame’, hesitating before adding clumsily. “… classy.”

Lestat chuckles behind him, his voice carrying a tease. “You miss the extravagance?” The rustling of cloth as Lestat seems to lay down again, on the side closest to Louis. “These are yours. I thought you might want… comfort.”

After, hangs in the air, unsaid.

Louis frowns, staring down at the clothes, before reaching in to check the size of the pants, his fingers gliding along a belt loophole for a moment, before he turns around, pants in hand. “Why, Lestat??” He shakes his head, and then scoffs, and shrugs. “I know I said I understand, but…” He grimaces. “I don’t, really.” He shrugs. “Why here? Why…“

Lestat’s right hand fingers are playing with the corner of the pillow his head is laying on, the hair fanned out behind him, a golden halo. His eyes seem to carry fire, the bedside table’s lamp reflecting like a predator’s warning. “There… there is an island, just north…”

Louis nods, once, prompting. “An island.”

Lestat licks his lips, his voice barely audible. “It’s called San Francisco.”

Louis stares at him, and then squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment, the phantom pain of a headache looming somewhere in his brain. “And…?”

Lestat shifts a bit, staring into the lamp. “I thought you died in San Francisco. The… island I was on was downriver. San Francisco is in Uruguay, not Argentina, it didn’t seem fitting.” He shrugs, seeming small and vulnerable on the big bed when he continues. “And I thought that your soul might find mine more easily, if it followed the river.”

Louis stares at him, and then he sniffs, suppressing the tears, his voice wobbly. “I… But the clothes?”

“In case I was wrong.” A small smile passes over Lestat’s face, a sad little smile, that matches the tear that runs down his face, gathering at the tip of his nose.

Louis reaches out before he can stop himself, wiping the tear off, his voice a whisper. “Why is that sad though?”

Lestat quirks an eyebrow, with a sigh. “Because I thought you were alive then… and I thought I would be dead.”

Louis lowers himself to his knees, tilting his head to align their gazes. “I’m not dead.” He lifts the finger he wiped the tear off with, his skin only vaguely smudged, and then reaches out on an impulse, booping Lestat’s nose, before he pushes back up, to reach for the underwear. “And neither are you.”

Lestat snorts, and then shifts, pulling a knee up, foot dangling over the side of the bed.

His voice is soft, though the words carry a punch. “Not for lack of people trying.”

Louis freezes, right in the motion of pulling the underwear up under the bathrobe, and then makes himself continue, with somewhat jerky movements.

He needs a moment, to find any kind of reply. “Things change.” He sniffs, and then shrugs, as he pulls on the cashmere pullover, breaching the subject before he can change his mind. “I used to have visions of you.” He shoots Lestat a look, who watches him, silently. “My very own Lestat, giving voice to the thoughts I found unfitting to admit to.” He scoffs. “Or was unwilling to face.” He lifts his eyebrows, his voice sardonic now, remembering. “You were allwayyyyys there, giving commentary. My guilt, my shame, my…” longing.

He grimaces, reaching for the socks. “Claudia didn’t talk to me, for years.” He works his jaw. “I cannot blame her.” He smiles a bit sardonically when he lifts the black leather belt from the box, pulling it through the hoops, his voice bitter. “It must have driven Armand mad.”

“Armand told me you were dead. You hurt yourself. In San Francisco.”

Louis frowns, turning to Lestat, who watches him, the pupils huge.

He leans down, pushing a strand of hair out of Lestat’s face, trying to make his voice firm, while he tries to shake the unease the words elicit. “But I’m not. See? I’m wearing the clothes you got for me.” He smiles, a bit forcedly, waving at himself. “All decked out in these very fine, very comfortable clothes.”

Lestat frowns, and then nods, just slightly. “Not hurt.”

Louis blinks, slowly. “No.” He tries to bring even more gravitas to the words. “Not hurt.”

Lestat’s lower lip trembles. “Okay.”

Louis stares at him, and then straightens up again, walking over and into the bathroom to rummage around in his clothes, sighing in relief when he finds his phone, and still in working condition, too. All hail today’s technology.

He checks his notifications, grimacing when he finds dozens of mails and messages, as well as some unanswered calls. Daniel, the Talamasca. Seth.

“I really need to call Daniel.” He holds up the phone for Lestat to see. “I’ll go fetch… snacks and call him, okay?” He shoots a look at the clock on the TV. “It’s almost 4am, still enough time.” He bites his lips and then shoves the phone into his pocket, rummaging around the big oak closet in the corner. “Ah ha!” He holds up two bags for the laundry service, shoving their dirty clothes into it with a grimace of disgust. He side-eyes their shoes, very glad that he can wear new and dry ones. “I guess they’ll have to dry as they are.”

He turns, to look at Lestat, who has a weird expression on his face, a mixture of fondness and sadness, tinged with an intensity that takes Louis’ breath.

He finds himself smiling. “What?”

Lestat blinks, very slowly. “Rien. Je… t’aime.” He shrugs.

Louis frowns, averting his gaze, floored by the simplicity and feeling. It’s not that he didn’t know, just that he… had tried to forget, so badly.

He sniffs, pulling on the shoes, glad he has something to do. “I’ll be back. Soon”.

He hurries outside, putting the “Do not disturb” sign on as he pulls the door shut, and then leans against it for a moment, eyes closed.

He is exhausted, physically and emotionally exhausted, the hunger is roaring, making him weak, and Lestat… He shakes his head, putting the bags with their clothes down next to the door before he starts down the dimly lit and thankfully thick-carpeted floor, his steps almost inaudible.

Not all the rooms are occupied, but all the humans surrounding him are currently asleep, even the night manager, who has dozed off in front of a little TV in his office.

Louis is glad for it, not feeling in the mood for any explanation, not after entering the hotel with Lestat earlier through the back service doors, and carefully evading the staff.

The night is still dark when he steps out and turns towards the trees again, the surrounding lawn carefully kept. He walks out on it, pulling the phone out, to dial Daniel’s number.

It takes almost a dozen rings until a very sleepy and very grumpy Daniel answers the call, and Louis’ mood takes a dip on every ring. “…ello?”

“Daniel.” Louis pulls a face, not in the mood for niceties. “Did you not want to keep our hours?”

“Never said that.” Daniel grunts, obviously pushing himself up in his bed, if the sounds are anything to go by. “So did you find him?”

Louis lifts his eyebrows, shooting a look back at the almost dark hotel. “I did.”

“And?” The sound of a bottle of water being opened, and a glass being poured. “How is he?”

Louis works his jaw. “He… tried to kill himself.”

A moment of silence. “Oh. That good, huh.”

Louis cackles, the laugh nonetheless loosening something in him up. “Yeah… as said before, he is not well.” He rubs his free hand over his forehead. “He says himself that his mind his fickle. And his logic…” He trails off, pulling a face.

“That sound.” Daniel’s voice is beyond dry.

Louis pulls air in, through his teeth. “He has trouble concentrating. Is erratic and yet docile, and Lestat is never docile. He… keeps returning to the expectation of me being dead, and me being hurt, and attempts on his life, and he says he sees her, waiting for him…” Louis shakes his head. “It’s exhausting to deal with him. He is… I don’t know.”

Daniel’s voice is carrying vague amusement. “Louis, what you describe there is almost every symptom of full blown PTSD.” He clicks his tongue, and then starts to list the symptoms, and Louis has the distinct impression he is ticking off his fingers. “Memory issues, difficulty with concentration, guilt and self-blame, dissociative reactions, emotional and likely physical distress. Do I need to go on?”

Louis pulls a face, resisting the impulse to throw the phone away. Far. “No.”

Daniel sighs, and Louis can hear the head-shake. “I mean it’s no wonder, right? His family tried to kill him, he had to watch his daughter burn, something happened to him you don’t know about, you were hurt… and that’s just the things we know about. Imagine what else he has experienced!“ A pause. “You guys need therapy.”

“Ha ha.” Louis swallows, working his jaw.

“I’m serious. With all what happened  - that you know of - you should really find a way to work through it. And I don’t mean that just for him either.”

Louis runs his tongue along his teeth, allowing the admission that Daniel is right. “Not so easy to find a therapist for mass murderers.”

Daniel snorts. “Ever watched The Sopranos…?

That makes Louis smile, despite everything. “No. But I heard about it, from…” He trails off, inhaling deeply. “I have to go now, Daniel. I need to find something to eat.” He takes the phone down to look at the message from Seth, and then lifts it again. “Fareed will be by in two nights once more to administer your medication.”

“What do you want me to tell the Talamasca?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Have they been by?”

Daniel snorts. “Just pestering me with calls. They knew your car had been found. I think it was them who had it towed.”

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I see. Hope they returned it, too.” He clicks his tongue, and then presses his lips together for a moment. “Tell them I will call them when I return.” He taps his finger against the phone, once. “Bye, Daniel.”

There is a yawn on the other side of the line. “Gonna mute this thing now, just for your information.”

Louis snorts. “You do that.” He ends the call, checking the time. Almost half past four. Over to the east the sky is already showing hues of blue mixing with the dark violet of the night.

He sighs, and then sets off, in a jog.

*******

“A … guinee pig?”

Louis blinks, and looks down at the two unconscious animals in his hands. “Capybaras.”

Lestat stares, propped up on one elbow, his face a vision of disgust. “Why?”

Louis rolls his eyes, stalking over. “Because it is 5am, the sun will rise soon, and these are not endangered. And the humans around us will not be endangered either if we feed at least a bit.” He shoves one of the animals at Lestat. “Now eat.”

Lestat pushes himself up, slowly, eyeing the Capybara for a long moment before he takes the animal from Louis, holding it at arm’s length. “But we’ll eat those outside.” He gets up, gaze fixed on the animal, crossing before Louis and stepping around the bed to get to the terrace. “They might empty their bladder or something when they die.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but then just sighs, and follows him outside.

He anticipates having to prompt Lestat to feed again, but he already is, face pressed up against the neck of the animal, the sounds of his hungry swallows making Louis’ own hunger roar as well, the world suddenly turning red, and needy, and the heart is beating so lustily, and there, there is the vein, and the relief, the relief to let the teeth drop, and sink them into hot flesh, and tear at it, so that the gush of blood hits the roof of his mouth, just right.

Silence, after, as they both they to rein in the remaining hunger. And swallow past the weird taste.

Louis’ mind flashes back to the rabbit he had a few weeks ago, and the few liters of blood he allowed himself in Dubai, sipped from golden spoons.

He fed well in New Orleans. It felt different there.

And now, this… feels different, too.

He exhales, letting the animal body drop to the ground, shooting a look at Lestat.

Who has his face upturned, eyes closed, mouth open, fangs on full display, still bloody, and wet.

A pang of arousal so potent it takes Louis’ breath shoots through him, makes him hard with a speed that leaves him light-headed.

The hunger shifts, abruptly, making him itch, wanting to touch. Needing to touch. Taste.

Lestat’s hair is dry now, curly and a bit frizzy, a golden halo around a vision of feral beauty.

Louis knows, that if he would reach out, touch a strand of hair… that this would be all that it would take. 

The ache to taste the lips is a pulse now, pushing at him, but he resists it, bending down to pick up the dead animal at Lestat’s feet, pulling it up to hide his crotch.

Feeling stupid and like friggin’ 13 again.

“I’ll…” He swallows, watching Lestat’s eyes open, the pupils still dilated and wild. “I’ll get rid of the… bodies. Be right back.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, rushing off towards the trees again, wondering to himself why he took the door earlier. Probably just so he could close it, and lean against it. He snorts to himself at the thought, shaking his head, throwing the animals in a little swampy inlet of the river, before returning to the hotel, the sky turning light in the east now, the birds chirping.

The hotel is waking up, service is setting the tables. The night manager is greeting the day shift.

He enters their room after carefully checking he is not seen, turning to close the terrace door and draw the curtains tight, the prospect of spending the day with Lestat in the room at once enticing and daunting. “Alright, I think we’re all set, let’s just…” He turns, to find the room empty, the word ‘sleep’ dying on his lips.

He lifts his eyebrows, and then feels for Lestat, relieved when this weird feeling of “them” is there still. So weird to now be able to recognize it. He used to attribute it to his own feelings only, and when he felt it in Paris, then, he thought he was going mad. And he had longed so viciously then. And had hated the idea of it being the same feeling he felt for Madeleine.

But it had not been Madeleine.

It had been part of the reason why he tried to get her blood out of his body though.

Sever the connection.

Because all I ever wanted is this… with him.

He sniffs, admitting and then dismissing the thought, with an effort, stepping up to the bathroom slowly, to peek through the open door.

Lestat is standing in front of the mirror, left hand propped up on the sink, leaning forward. He is staring at himself, short distance from the mirror, the blue eyes fixed on their reflection. His right hand is wrapped around the base of his throat, fingers gliding across the skin there.

There, where the scar would be. Had been, once upon a time.

Lestat seems to have guessed his thoughts, because he clicks his tongue, stretching his throat a bit more, before locking his eyes with Louis’ through the mirror. “It took ages to heal…” He smiles, a broken little smile that kills off any lingering arousal Louis might have felt, and quickly, replacing it with shame, regret, and… guilt. “The stab wounds, too.” Louis frowns, but doesn’t interrupt, watching Lestat watch him. “Other vampires would have died that night.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, tone not entirely kind. “But not you.”

Lestat hums, his voice soft. “No, not me.” His gaze flickers away, finds his own in the reflection. “But you could not know that.” He exhales, tilting his head a bit, fingers gliding back and forth about the absent scar. “For all intents and purposes I died for my sins in New Orleans.” His eyes cloud over a bit, the shiver that runs through him clearly visible. “And then again in Paris.”

Louis licks his lips, wanting to ask, but refrains, suddenly terribly afraid of what the truth might turn out to be. What else he cannot remember.

He clears his throat. “And yet you’re here.” He swallows, offering a forced little smile that is nonetheless genuine. “And I’m glad you are.” He inhales deeply, emphasizing, trying to put as much sincerity into it as he can muster. “I am.”

Lestat is silent, still examining his throat, and Louis frowns, finally stepping fully into the bathroom, to come up and stand behind Lestat, an inch or two away.

“I…” Louis presses his lips together, and then shrugs, before he raises his hand, hesitating before he puts it up and between Lestat’s shoulder blades, rubbing his thumb once over the cloth of the bathrobe, feeling for the heart that is beating inside.

He swallows, making himself speak. “Just a short while ago, I realized something.” He closes his eyes, the words coming easier though not seeing Lestat’s reactions makes him fidget, just a bit. “I realized that nothing would have changed the outcome, even if things would have unfolded a bit differently.” He inhales, and then opens his eyes again, forcing himself to lock them with Lestat’s. “But I would always have kissed you on the altar.” Tears are rising now, unstoppable, and he lets them, letting them fall cleansing in a way that all meditation he tried never managed. “I would have always suffered through that choice. I would have always wanted… her. I would have always…” He cannot continue, staring at Lestat through the mirror, watching the red tears there, too. “No matter other choices, no matter… knowledge. No matter…” He grimaces, the word felt. “No matter the pain.”

He shakes his head once, smiling through the agony of their shared history. “I would have always wanted us.”

I would have always wanted you.

Lestat is staring at him through the mirror, his face a mask of blood and pain, mouth open, lip quivering. He works his jaw, and then closes his eyes, for a long moment, his voice brittle and hurt when he speaks, reminding Louis so much of the way he asked whether Louis had been hurt.

“I would have never met you.” He laughs, a dark laugh that ends in a sob, a sob that is heaved, and that makes Louis move in, to hug Lestat, from behind, hands splayed over Lestat’s chest. “Sometimes I curse how I… I did not choose this, Louis, you know that. And this life… it has brought me so much pain.” His voice drops to a whisper. “So much death. And pain.”

There is a moment of hesitation, and then Lestat straightens up in Louis’ arms, turning slowly to hug him back, face pressing into Louis’ neck.

The words are almost inaudible, tickling Louis’ skin. “But it also gave me you.” A shivering exhale. “And I cannot… I just cannot regret you… or her.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, hand coming up to press Lestat’s head to himself, to hold as tight as he can.

He closes his eyes. “I cannot regret her either.”

And I’m sorry, Claudia.

But I cannot.

Chapter Text

“It’s strange…”

Lestat blinks at him, entwined limbs and shared breath, so close that Louis can feel his heart beating. In sync with his own once more, and he allows himself to bask in the feeling for a while, before answering. They’ve just woken up, entwined under the blankets, and Louis shifts a bit, to find that nook he can nestle in even more comfortably, the one he knows is there.

“Normally I would have kissed you by now.”

He expects Lestat to quip, but he only smiles a bit, while shifting to let Louis find that nook, against his throat. “I don’t think we were ever normal.”

“You know what I mean.” Louis snorts gently. “We used to be all over each other whenever we could.”

Lestat hums, the rumble under Louis’ cheek. “Newlyweds. It’s normal to slow down a bit.”

Louis rolls his eyes, tone definitely sarcastic. “Yeah that surely was the case for us. Not.” He exhales, frowning a bit, asking, more to himself. “What is stopping us now?”

Lestat is quiet for a long moment, and then shrugs, gently, without dislodging Louis. “I often dream of you finding me. Of us making love. And then…” He shivers, the click of his throat loud as he swallows, the use of the present tense scratching Louis’ nerves. “And then, when we reach climax, you …” He falls silent again.

Louis frowns, and then pushes up, pushing the blanket off a bit, to look down at Lestat.

“And then I…?”

Lestat frowns, shrugging again, voice almost inaudible. “My throat gets slashed and you disappear.” He licks his lips. “Just an illusion. A ghost.” An exhale. “A memory, nothing more.”

Louis blinks, slowly, and then states, trying to sound firm. “But I’m here now.”

Lestat smiles, a bit bitterly. “I always think you’re there.” His eyes flicker away. “I always see you. We talk. We… forgive.” His voice drops to a whisper. “We make love.” His tongue flicks out, touching his lip for just a second. “And then you’re gone, and I’m in agony again.”

Louis closes his eyes, shaking his head once. “You don’t really believe I’m here, do you.”

Lestat hesitates, and then quirks an eyebrow. “My mind is fickle, I told you. I cannot trust it.”

Louis nods slowly, and then sighs, on an exhale. “Right.” He grunts, laying back down in Lestat’s arms, though the mood shift is palpable. “You know, Daniel is right. We need therapy.”

Lestat hums. “I doubt any therapist would take us.”

Louis weighs his head, pulling a bit of a face. “Fair.” He lifts his head a bit, to look at Lestat. “We would get into an argument and end up eating them while fucking through the office space.”

Lestat snorts, and then giggles, pulling Louis in by the waist. “We would.” He sniffs, and then sobers, his thumb rubbing circles onto Louis’ back. “A propos eating… Is it still four legs?”

Louis grimaces a bit, but inhales, with a shrug. “I… sometimes. I think… I think the more recent relapse was because of the circumstances. But I ate… “ He hesitates, looking for a fitting word.” …properly after Paris.” He lifts his eyebrows. “And after Dubai.” He frowns, and then clicks his tongue. “Yesterday was just so we wouldn’t end up eating the hotel.”

Lestat inhales. “Ah. I rarely eat.”

Louis purses his lips. “I saw the rats.”

Lestat shrugs, softly. “I was practicing. Going out… didn’t seem to be worth it.”

Louis hums, teasing softly. “And so you lured a poor new fledgling in to get them for you? What did you promise that poor baby vampire?”

Lestat grins, the motion evident in his voice. “Nothing. Just that I would show him the various gifts. Of course he couldn’t use them yet, but he… did not know that.” He inhales, and then shrugs again. “They are as I was. Untaught, thrown into the world. But they are not burdened by considerations of good or evil. They do not think of themselves as demons.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I envy them.”

Louis stares into space for a moment, remembering his mother. And Grace’s wide eyes. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat. “To get back on the subject… do you need to hunt tonight?” He draws back a bit, to watch Lestat’s face. “I… I got some blood from Armand, over the years. He rarely hunts. You rarely hunt. I… still need the blood. I’m still susceptible to sunlight.” He hesitates, then adds. “So are you.” He amends, remembering that Lestat did not exactly burn to a crisp immediately. “At least to an extent.”

Lestat quirks an eyebrow, and then shakes his head, once. “No. I do not need to hunt.” Something playful and familiar crosses his features, something Louis recognizes after a moment as a playful leer. “But I would love to watch you do so.”

Louis snorts, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his gut. “Oh I bet you would.” He hesitates, and then looks away, amending. “Of course, I don’t really want to leave you here alone, so… looks like it’s your lucky day.”

He expects Lestat to quip, but he just smirks, very softly. “Every day spent with you is lucky.”

Louis blinks, and then blurts out. “Okay, that was bad.” He snorts, and then watches Lestat giggle, something in his chest blooming. He clicks his tongue. “Also, our history definitely contradicts that.” He watches the smile drain from Lestat’s face as if in slow motion, and curses silently, licking his lips. “I… that’s not how I meant it. Jus’…” He trails off, with a grimace. “I’m hungry.”

He pushes up, sitting on the side of the bed for a moment, asking en lieu of an apology. “Will you come watch over me?”

Lestat blinks, and then pushes up as well, sending him a careful little smile. “Of course.”

*******

Luckily their washed clothing is hanging in front of their room, and Louis redresses into his old clothes with a feeling mixed of regret and relief, back turned to where Lestat is dressing behind him.

It’s almost like getting dressed in their coffin room, back then. Amiable silence, after having slept in each other’s arms. Not always, granted, but usually.

Louis frowns, pulling his jacket on last, laughing low-key when he finds the car keys, safely tugged away by the staff in an extra plastic bag, together with the license.

He holds them up for Lestat to see. “Guess we can get the car after all.” He hesitates, and then amends. “Though, if it was towed by who I think towed it…”

Lestat steps up to him, the dark shirt he wears under a washed out jeans jacket showing off the pale skin at his throat. “We can just go and take it out of the police yard, can we not?”

Louis shoots him a look. “Oh, no, the Talamasca towed it.”

“Who?”

Louis blinks, turning to face him. “The Talamasca.” He frowns. “You don’t know them?”

Lestat shakes his head, with a frown. “Non. Who are they?”

Louis shoves the key into his pants pocket. “Oh, they’re this secret order spying on us.”

Lestat’s voice has this weird undertone to it. “They know who we are?”

Louis shrugs. “Yes. They even have some members who are…”

Lestat interrupts him, his expression wild. “Louis, you cannot trust them. They will be hunted down, sooner or later, or they will hunt us down.”

Louis blinks, taken aback, lifting his hand. “Easy, Lestat, it’s not like that.”

Lestat’s eyes are ablaze. “It is not?” His hand comes up, to grip Louis’ nape, shaking him, just a bit. “Louis, they will come for us, sooner or later.”

Louis lifts his own hand, to put it onto Lestat’s. “Lestat, they only want to know about us. They already have several vampires in their service, and they promised to help me find you if I would answer some questions, and…”

Lestat interrupts, eyes huge, fangs out, with a snarl. “And you won’t, I forbid it!”

Louis pauses, taking him in, and then counts to ten, to not sound as irritated as he feels. “I can make my own decisions, thank you.”

Lestat’s face twitches, in an expression Louis cannot place.

He leans in, eyes wild. “Non. I forbid it. We cannot take the risk.”

Louis scoffs, truly feeling weirded out now. “Risk? What risk. They knew where I was for years, and nothi…” He trails off, the stare that Lestat levels him with taking the flippant words from him. There is something in Lestat’s gaze, something that makes this serious.

He hesitates, and then adds: “In any case, I can make my own decisions, as said. And they upheld their end of the bargain, and so… I will uphold mine.”

Lestat abruptly withdraws his hand, leaving Louis feeling bereft. He steps back. “What bargain?”

Louis closes his eyes, for a moment. “To find you.” He spreads his arms. “And though it was more following some logic jumps and sheer luck… they did provide addresses and information.”

Lestat is staring at him, looking for all intents and purposes devastated. And afraid.

His voice is a whisper. “He might kill you.”

Louis tilts his head, with a frown. “He? No, I assure you, Armand won’t touch me.” He lets a little smile play on his lips, definitely not kind. “And I don’t care about the others.”

Lestat blinks, stepping even further back, until he can sink onto the bed, staring at Louis.

He shakes his head after a moment, slowly, his eyes flickering through the room, unseeing. “Armand is…” He huffs, closing his eyes. “Louis, Armand is an infant, compared to some vampires out there. And…”

Louis interrupts, tone lofty. “I know. I met Seth.” He nods, once. “It’s unsettling.”

Lestat stares at him, the frown etched deep into his forehead. “And that… Seth… does he not forbid the contact?”

Louis chuckles, a bit taken aback by the question. “… No? In fact, he brought in Fareed, for Daniel’s treatment, and I think he is quite informed about…” He trails off again, watching Lestat’s blank face, the state of desolation that washes over it.

He swallows, and then steps over, slowly, to sit down next to Lestat.

He makes his voice soft, following the train of thought. “So. You were… forbidden…?” He shoots a look at Lestat. “To do what?”

Lestat tilts his head a bit towards him, but continues to stare into space.

His voice is flat, small. “He threatened to kill my fledglings if I should ever tell.”

Louis turns his head, to stare at him, something clicking into place, taking his breath.

He forces the word out. “Who?” Oh god, that is why…

Lestat opens his mouth, then closes it again, obviously needing several tries to say the name, carried on a breath, barely more than a whisper. “Marius.”

And Louis, for the life of him, he cannot hold the scoff in, the utter contempt, and disregard, his voice too high, almost squeaky. “Marius? You serious?”

Lestat freezes, and then turns to him, with an indecipherable expression on his face. “You know of him?”

Louis rolls his eyes a bit, still scoffing. “Yes, I know of him. Armand’s maker, and grooming piece of shit. Sold him out to his peers, too.” He pulls a face. “No wonder Armand…” He presses his lips together, the anger at Armand and his actions mixing once more with the knowledge, in a rather unhealthy way.

He clicks his tongue. “I think Marius can go fuck himself.”

There is silence from Lestat, and Louis turns his head, to see him staring at Louis, mouth dropped open.

Louis bites his lips, and then grins suddenly. “I should probably take a picture of you like this.”

Lestat’s mouth closes, as if in slow motion, and then he bends forward, to hide his face in his hands.

His voice is muffled. “The fact that you know, have known, and are still alive…” His head lowers, to between his knees, his hands coming up to clasp behind his neck. “I don’t… understand.”

Louis looks at him, and then nods, slowly, before reaching out to rub his back through the jacket. “Things… obviously changed. You kept away from the world for too long.”

Lestat’s voice is dull. “Not entirely voluntarily.” He pushes up, sniffing, hands on his knees. “Besides, I thought you were dead.” His voice takes on a hard edge. “He said you were dead.”

The muscles in Louis’ jaw jumps. “I’m sorry.” He snorts, the sound not entirely without bitterness. “If it’s any consolation, I might as well have been.” His eyes drift away from Lestat, remembering. “I was living in a big, beautiful coffin, hidden away from the world.” He purses his lips. “Everything I ever wanted, if only I asked for it.” He smiles, bitterly. “And for the longest time, I did not know what I was missing either. And therefore could not possibly ask for it.”

Lestat looks at him. “What changed?”

Louis hesitates, looking back at him.

He chooses his words carefully, suddenly aware of how volatile Lestat might react to… the truth. “I… I called in a favor, when too many things did not match anymore. A hunch, followed. And it … changed everything.” He shoots Lestat a small smile, before averting his gaze, once more very glad Lestat cannot read his mind. “Another time.” He nods and then gets up, looking down at Lestat. “You wanted to see me hunt.” Louis tilts his head, making his voice softer. “Are you sure you don’t want to… join?” He holds out his hand.

Lestat stares at it, for a long minute, and then takes it, entwining their fingers, before getting up. “Oui.”

*******

They walk to the main desk of the hotel, charming their way to acquire a rental car for the night. It’s old, and it squeaks when they sit down in it, but it will do, and Louis refrains from asking how Lestat actually got to this hotel, and Lestat is decidedly not offering that information, staring out of the windows in a rather pensive mood instead.

Louis guesses it has to do with the revelations just now, and he burns with the need to ask questions, but quells the impulse, his hunger a roar, and the promise of the future for them so very prominent after all.

There will be time - later.

There will be a later.

He exhales, steering the car through the night, the old Buick bringing back memories of Daniel’s old Buick. Daniel, right. He needs to call Daniel again.

The town is reached quickly, though they need to take a big detour, the road significantly longer than if they had gone by foot. Or flown.

Louis shoots Lestat a look as they enter the city perimeters, tapping his finger on the wheel. “So, where does one hunt here?”

Lestat turns his head to look at him, and then shrugs. “Je ne sais pas? It’s a small town, I…” He clicks his tongue. “I did not intend to stay here long.”

Louis purses his lips, some levity gone, his tone biting. “Yeah, you only came here to kill yourself.”

Lestat pulls a face. “I…” He suddenly raises his hand, presses the heel against the side of his head. “She still calls me. I told you, it seemed…”

“Win win, yes I remember.” Louis works his jaw, turns left on a whim. “The wilderness that was our daughter. Feeling her pain.”

Lestat sighs. “I did not really want to… die, Louis.” He shakes his head once, eyes flickering out into the night, tracking the houses they pass by. “I …”

Louis prompts, taking another left, into a dimly lit section with a lot of little houses. “What did you want, Lestat?”

Lestat frowns, staring straight, out of the windshield.

He shrugs. “This, I think. Us, talking. You, real.”

Louis nods, but clicks his tongue. “I have always been real, Lestat.”

Lestat sighs. “I thought you were dead for so long, Louis, that I started to doubt every thought of you that was in my mind. My thoughts were consumed with thoughts of you Louis, and I used to dream of you and what she would say of me and about me.” He hesitates, and then adds, slowly.  “Armand came by a times. When he called me back then, you know, that morning… I wasn't sure if any of what I tried to say to you would actually be communicated. He… never told me if he relayed my message to you.”

Louis swallows. “That is why you thought I was dead. You didn't think I was there.” He shoots a look at Lestat, from the corner of his eyes, the words like ash on his tongue ”You thought I was gone.”

Lestat exhales, through his nose. “My days were devoured by dreams of her and the look she gave me when… “ He trails off, licking his lips. “My nights were ruled by dreams of you and the look you had given me there and that stage.” He turns to look at Louis, the memory making his eyes seem hollow. “There had been hope in there, a fleeting impression of something sweet and tender that survived our turbulent break up.” His voice turns pleading. “Wasn’t there, Louis?”

Louis swallows, remembering well. He nods, once.

Lestat inhales, turning in his seat a bit to face Louis, leg pulled up. “It broke me to think that both of you were dead. It broke me to go on regardless.” He laughs, a caustic laugh that makes the hairs on Louis’ neck stand up. “When Armand called I dared to hope, and that hope then turned the following years into the cruelest form of torture.” His voice drops to a whisper, the road ahead illuminated sparsely with their headlights, the whisper making it seem haunted. “Hope and then devastation and loneliness and pain. I started to dream away, I started to envision. I started to hear her…” Lestat pauses, his fingers playing a bit in the air, like on a piano keyboard. Louis tries to ignore it, and the way this makes him feel… uneasy.

Lestat continues after a moment, head tilted to the left, as if listening to music only he can hear. “I think that must have been when my sanity took a turn for the worse.” He sniffs, and then chuckles, more than a little drily. “It is not that I don't know it. It is more that I… cannot quite control it.” He frowns. “For so long I did not have someone to anchor me, I did not have someone to check my reality.” He blinks, slowly. “All the fledglings that were around and tried to learn from me… they did not have an inkling of my reality either. Their reality was only a fraction of my life, and yet their reality was similar to mine, since many of those young fledglings seem to have been abandoned by the makers or have been set onto the Devil’s Road without further instructions.”

Louis frowns at the term, but doesn’t interrupt, listening closely. “Maybe their maker didn't even have those information for them, I don't know. It makes me wonder where it started, which vampire set out to bring those across he would not care for.” He bites his lips. “The way I was made…”

Louis licks lips, remembering similar questions, and a brush off, regularly, no answers beyond the ones he got when they took Lestat back in. When Lestat had opened up, for once. Just a bit.. “How were you made, Lestat?”

Lestat smiles, his face at once forlorn and at once closed off. “A long and rather unpleasant tale, Louis.” He inhales. “I am hungry, let us feed first.”

Louis presses his lips together for just a moment, and then nods, telling himself he is not disappointed.

******

They leave the car at the corner next to a little bar, observing the sparse coming and going for a moment, before deciding to walk and let the prey come to them in form of robbers. The city is not a big one, barely 90,000 living souls. Some crime of course, not enough to feed any ravenous vampires for any prolonged time.

Louis starts scanning the minds and silhouettes around them, for the little tell-tale signs of drug addiction, knives and guns shoved into the back of the trousers.

One man seems promising, his mind full of the need to sell the drugs he has acquired at a bargain. Not an ideal victim, not that Louis has many possibilities for choosing. He would have preferred more sinister individual, but the hunger will not let him choose for very much longer and so he accepts fate, and follows the man around the corner, nodding in indication of wanting to buy.

The man is shorter than him, dark hair, and clever eyes, a strong cologne, taking him in as Louis comes closer, feeling Lestat fall back, probably satisfied to watch.

He wonders for a moment. Is this all there is to it, ultimately? Those who cross our path were chosen by fate - do we just accept that eventually?

The thought flees as the scent of prey hits Louis’ nose, and then his tongue, shifting his focus. The world narrows down, to the single focus of the heart beating, calling to him.

Wet thumping. Hot skin.

It is almost too easy.

Louis takes the man, as if in a dance, using the momentum to turn them against the wall, pressing the man up against it while already tilting his face to the man’s neck.

Leather and sweat, paired with a siren call of a lustily pumping mortal heart, and Louis mouth waters, the appetite rising with the hunger that claws at him now, claws at his intestines, claws at his soul.

Relief, when his fangs pierce the tender skin, and then - the blood.

The first arterial spray hits the roof of his mouth and he growls with it, groans with the pressure that forces its way down his throat, in the first euphoric swallow, that opens up the victims mind to him. Impressions of a life, a short life, lived in necessity and circumstance, nothing much to write about is there, except that it was his life of course, this man's life.

And the man whispers, aware, despite the swoon: why me, why me, why did you choose me?

Louis growls, biting deeper, the answer not ready, no, and it isn't clear either. He wants.

He needs. He’s… hungry.

What had Lestat said back then? You will be filled?

The man moans, his swooning mind conjuring a vision of himself in their shared awareness, raising a gun, to shoot it at Louis. This is my life, he seems to scream, and Louis groans, reaching for the last pumps of the heart.

Yes. Give it to me.

Show me life at the very moment of death.

Death, the bullet to the heart.

Silence.

He lets the man drop to the ground, his mind aflame, invigorated, sated.

The blood on his tongue is tickling, prickling, like champagne.

Satiation in his body, in his limbs. Energy and relaxation, in equal measure.

You will be filled.

Lestat speaks up, his voice quiet, but clear: “His mind is yours now, and so is his life. It will sustain you for a while.”

Louis turns to him with a frown, wondering he had spoken aloud maybe.

He nods, and then shrugs. “Fate chose him tonight.”

Lestat smiles, a smile born out of sad humor, and wistfulness. And teasing. “So that is what what you will be now, Louis? A predator that takes what fate presents him with?”

Louis lifts his head, vaguely ticked off. “And if it was so?” The thought is biting and very much sarcastic, accusatory. What is it to you. Are you not just happy I feed?

Lestat comes closer to wipe at the corner of Louis mouth, a gesture so familiar and made so foreign by the decades that separated them, that it makes him recoil.

Lestat’s mouth twitches, his voice carrying a weird undertone, as his hand falls down emptily between them. “What if who crosses your path are a mother and a child…” His gazes seems turned inward, and Louis wonders if he remembers something. “What would you do? Who would you spare them?” His head tilts, his voice carrying a dark but dreamy inflection. “What if that child would turn out to be the next Mother Theresa?”

Louis’ face shutters. His words are clipped. “We talked about that long ago. Do you remember? Back then on our bench, you called my esteem for the author and my consideration a ‘fogging the mind’?”

Lestat hums. “I remember.” His eyes turn direct, cold, boring into Louis’. “And do you remember that I told you it wasn't that easy?”

Louis turns away abruptly.  “I am not a fledgling anymore.”

Lestat steps back after a moment, giving him space. “No, you’re not.”

They both know what is left unsaid, the unspoken words heavy between them.

The liquid feeling intensifies for a long moment, and then Louis shoves it away, deep into the recesses of his mind. And feeling.

He hesitates, and then bends down to pick up the man throwing him over his shoulder, and then stalks over to the other side of the road, where there is a big garbage heap.

He throws the words back over his shoulder, while looking at it from several sides. “Isn't it funny how easily you fall back into the old, relationship patterns?” He sends a not quite that friendly smile back at Lestat. “Soon we’ll be fighting again. Arguing… loudly.”

Lestat comes after him, hands shoved into his pockets, shaking his head. “Non, Louis, we will not be fighting again”, he hesitates, before adding, his eyes dark, “not like that at least.”

Louis shoves at a rusty bathtub with his foot, toppling it over. He throws the body in, pushing it over to the garbage heap and then pushes it over again, effectively hiding the body, before he turns to Lestat.

He cannot hide the challenge in his voice. “How do you know?”

Lestat bends down to take up some rubble to throw it over the bathtub, obscuring it from view. Louis shoots a look at the little houses around them, but no-one is watching them.

Lestat sighs, and then states, sounding as if this was a decision he made, long ago. “Because I hurt you once, and I will not do it again.”

Louis swallows, not sure what to say.

He had envisioned this discussion with Lestat often, but now that he has opened it up, it seems as if all the arguments have left him, the reality of them being here and talking about it so far beyond anything he could have anticipated before.

What do all the old arguments mean now? All the old hurts?

They are here, and she… is gone.

He looks down at the barely visible bathtub, and then back at Lestat, who is watching him with this weird expression on his face, an expression that seems amicable, but it strangely devoid of any emotion.

The realization is sobering. He still thinks I might disappear, doesn't he?

He snorts suddenly, bitterly, and then forces a chuckle, with an apologetic note to it. “I am sorry”, he says after a moment, feeling Lestat’s gaze like a touch.

He runs his tongue along his fangs, changing the subject. “It was not much of a hunt after all.”

Lestat lifts his hand, reaching out to touch his left brow, letting the tip of his finger just glide along it. “To see you eat at all, it's like a dream come true.” His eyes glide over Louis’ face, almost a touch. “For so long I was worried, and then…” A smile like broken glass crosses Lestat’s face, bleeding with intensity and pain. “And finally I could only mourn you.”

And you’re still mourning. Low-key, tinged with hope.

Louis nods, slowly, sending him a small smile.

He forces himself to sound neutral. “I am just glad you did not try to commit suicide before. Otherwise, I...” He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a whisper, admitting to himself. “I would not have known what I would have done.”

Lestat shakes his head as well, the blonde hair shifting hypnotically. “I could not have done so, Louis,” he says. There is a fatalistic undertone to his voice. “You had not visited with me yet.”

Louis swallows. “Right. You needed to know.” He shoots Lestat a look. “Do you feel better now? How does your mind feel now?” Do I feel real to you?

Lestat frowns. “I am not sure. It still seems fickle and unreliable.“ He pauses, obviously choosing his words carefully, with a small smile. “But to see you, and to feel you, makes it better.”

Louis nods, not really relieved but then again the tiniest bit, and then reaches out to take Lestat’s hand, refusing to think much on it. He pulls Lestat along, into the opposite direction to where their car is, suddenly needing only to walk, and to know that they're here.

What he would not give for a small park now, and a bench.

He licks his lips. “Do you remember Paris? Do you remember…” He doesn't quite finish, but he can feel Lestat tense just a bit, knowing Lestat knows what he means.

Lestat’s voice is soft, his fingers threaded through Louis’. “You mean when you came to me, with him? When I let you go?”

Louis swallows, deciding to take the bull by the horns. “What was the bargain?”

Lestat exhales, long and with a sigh. His fingers squeeze Louis’ hand, once. “The bargain was your life, Louis.” He shrugs and then laughs, caustically. “Afterwards, after I had already saved you.” He pauses for a moment, and then continues, the french accent very strong for a moment. “But they did not honor their own little fake trial and so I knew I had to find another way.”

Louis has to ask. “Where you held? In the dungeons I mean?"

Lestat blinks, shooting him a look, obviously irritated, a hint of the old Lestat in his voice. “Did you not see the shackles?”

“I…” Louis frowns, something in him twitching. “I think I might not remember everything that happened back then.”…either. He swallows the word down.

Lestat stops, stopping him by their linked hands in the process. “What do you mean? What do you mean, you do not remember?”

Louis cackles. “Oh, we are not going to have that discussion here now.” He lifts his eyebrows, his voice dark. “It is a long and ugly one, and I am still very much furious.”

The golden eyebrows are drawn together, for a moment. “At whom?”

Louis blinks, frowning himself, shooting a look at Lestat. “Armand, of course.” He hesitates, watching Lestat carefully. “He…” He presses his lips together and swallows. Trying to imagine, and failing, the reaction Lestat would have to Armand and his… meddling when Lestat is himself again. There is a big part of it that does not want this Lestat, this shadow, to know. “It doesn't matter.” He inhales, putting on a more cheerful expression. “What matters is that you find your way back to yourself.”

Lestat tilts his head, echoing the careful smile. “Am I not myself?”

Louis cannot help himself, he bursts out laughing, reaching up to push a strand of hair out of Lestat’s face. He shakes his head. “No, mon cher. You decidedly are not.”

Lestat’s eyes flicker away, his voice small. “I see.”

Louis tugs at their joined hands. “But that was to be expected.” He inhales, deeply, and then admits, fully feeling the truth of the words for the first time. “I don't think I'm myself either.”

Lestat watches him for a long moment, and then hums, squeezing his fingers. “What a pair we make.”

*******

He blames the skin of their hands.

He blames the moonlight that makes Lestat’s hair shine like finely spun silver and gold.

He blames their surroundings, he blames the fact that he is alone with Lestat in and by itself.

He blames the cool night air, making him lean in just a bit.

He blames the way Lestat looks so innocent and harmless.

He blames the way the blood rushes through his veins, the way the sated hunger opens up the hunger for different kinds of desires. he blames the way the skin of Lestat’s throat gleams in the moonlight.

He could not say who leans in first.

He could not say who pulls at whose hand.

He could not say who stumbles and who catches.

He could not say, and he does not care.

All there is to care about, is the way that Lestat’s lips taste.

All there is to care about, it's the way they fit.

All there is to care about, is the way it makes him feel.

The rush of heat up his spine. The twist of his stomach. The coiling in his guts.

Black tar heroine.

The best I’ve ever had.

Lestat’s mouth is addiction, made flesh. The taste of them, of love, of anger, of desire, of history, and of destiny. Inexplicably.

Undeniably.

Madness.

Louis moans into the kiss, the sound a feeling made reality. He feels eaten alive, their fangs scratching, shivering through him. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he knows this is not the best idea, he knows they are not ready. He knows that. But how can something that feels so right and good be wrong?

He shivers, reaching up to fist blond hair, pull that mouth closer.

There is the sound, the sound he knew this action would trigger.

The sound he has waited for, the smallest of whimpers, carried on a breathy moan. God, how has he missed this breathy moan. God, how he wants to hear that whimper again. He has a whole catalogue of sounds and feelings he wants to conjure and trigger again.

Has waited to trigger again.

This is not the place, he knows it.

And yet there is no doubt in his mind what this night will bring now.

They should be picking up the car not making out not far from the kill.

They should not be stumbling to the backyards, and then to the foliage beyond.

But should and would have never really matched in Louis's life.

And the relief to feel Lestat in his arms, and to taste him overrides every other thought.

Lestat’s arm comes around his waist pull him in tight. There is a rush of air, and then they’re at the beach again, on the sand, stumbling.

Louis breaks the kiss to hiss, somewhat breathlessly, pulling at the shirt Lestat wears, to pull it out of his pants. “Oh, now we’re flying?”

Lestat cackles, and then there is just a breathy moan which reverberates through Louis, and then Lestat’s mouth nibbling along his carotid, with a groan that goes straight to Louis groin. A leg pushes in-between his, pressing, and Louis gasps, pulling Lestat’s mouth closer, needing it, with the single-minded focus of decades of yearning.

He can feel Lestat’s hand, fall down to his ass, pulling in, pressing down, just right, lifting him, up to his teeth. Pressure against his perineum, pressure against his throat, and Louis’ head falls back, to receive, his hands clutching gold.

Twin points of searing pleasure-pain, and he arches up, helplessly, decades, years of love breaking through his veins, white-hot pleasure which expands, and then centers, as Lestat bites down hard.

Bliss.

Louis’ eyes are open, fixed on the night sky, fingers clawed into curls, staring up unseeing.

There seems to be a maelstrom under him, a black hole, opening up, taking his voice, and his body. Lestat is rushing up to him, in his mind, in his arms, and then, suddenly, there is this connection, unfurling, tugging him in, the connection that Louis has yearned for, and which he dreaded, in equal measure.

Beautiful Louis. How I have missed you.

I know. … I know.

Mon coeur.

Lestat, I…

Shhhhhhh.

….

Don’t weep, mon coeur. Everything will be alright.

How can you say that?

…

…

It is the only way to endure.

Louis gasps, silently, some sense returning, his body thrumming, eager for orgasm. He cannot help it, he starts humping Lestat’s leg, just a bit, just a bit, just there, just there, just this little bit more.

The connection severs, leaving him reeling, and then the world tilts, the impact of them hitting the ground knocking the air out of him.

Lestat’s mouth finds his again, bloody and wild, the taste of his own blood masking Lestat’s taste making Louis feral.

Reality blurs as clothes are shed, limbs entwine.

It’s been too long.

Lestat’s body gives, receives him, with a groan that feeds Louis’ soul, finds his heart, and makes it beat in sync once more, cadence, rhythm, bliss.

He is not sure where he finds the stamina, nor the restraint.

He just knows he never, ever wants it to end.

The kiss is sloppy now, broken by gasps. Lestat’s cock is between them, leaking, his legs somehow over Louis’ shoulder and upper arms. His fingers are vices, clutched around Louis’ neck, keeping Louis’ mouth on his, gasping into it, setting the pace.

Little hiccups, within the gasps, little hints of a stifled whine. The tongue, teasing Louis’ fangs, glides along them, drags, makes a cut.

Louis’ groans into the kiss and then pushes up, just a bit more, bending Lestat in half, the change in angle precise, and audible, immediate.

He cackles into Lestat’s mouth, breathlessly, hears the hissed curse, and then turns his head to deepen the kiss, sucking on the tongue now, while his hips snap, there, there, again. Wet slaps now, and a smoother glide, and then a moan, from somewhere deep within Lestat.

It’s frenzied now, close to the end, and Louis’ fangs are aching, teased by little droplets of Lestat’s blood, as their tongues dance.

He can feel the orgasm gather, and he fights it, fights the end, futilely.

Lestat comes, silently, seemingly freezing within Louis’ arms, lips pressed to Louis’ in silent benediction, his eyes open, and breaking, the little death making the universe stumble, for just a moment, freezing them in time.

Cold heat between their bodies, in pulses that emulate their heartbeats, and the smell that drives Louis mad, makes everything within him coil.

The words are there, on the tip of his tongue.

He can feel them.

Taste them.

His own orgasm takes them, with a shout.

He can feel Lestat’s hands guide him, gently, shift to offer his throat.

Louis’ fangs pierce the skin, find their home.

The universe expands, explodes in blood-red bliss, on his tongue, and down his throat. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his own mind there is still reluctance, still apprehension, the rich blood a sirup, unlike any other, feather-light and thick as honey, power made radiance, and underneath, underneath is what he wants, and he burrows towards it, to the soul underneath, the soul still basking in orgiastic bliss, welcoming him, with the shivering golden touch of relief, and serenity.

Lestat.

And the answering thought, all-encompassing, coming with so much love that it makes him weep, while his fangs sink deeper:

Louis.

*******

“Mon dieu, doing this on the beach was such a bad idea.”

“You didn’t exactly complain at the time.”

“I am complaining now. The sand is everywhere.”

“Not everywhere.”

“Ha ha.”

“…”

“Stop grinning.”

“I can’t help it. You seem…”

“Annoyed? Irritated? Brushing out sand from my genitals and asshole?”

“… better.”

“Ah.”

“What? No… quip?”

“Your observation is… apt, I guess.”

“The healing powers of sex.”

“…”

“What.”

“It is just… You are really here?”

“… my come is dripping out of you.”

“J'en suis tout à fait conscient.”

“You could not roll your eyes any harder if you tried, could you.”

“…”

“Do you really still doubt I am real?”

“…”

“…”

“… My mind has brought me relief before.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

“That’s got to be a first.”

“I have apologized before.”

“Yeah, but… you know what I mean.”

“… oui.”

“…”

“…”

“I have not smoked for decades, but I could use one of the old cigars now.”

“Mhhhh. I loved you smoking, standing in front of our car.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I… know.”

“…”

“…”

“What happens now?”

“…”

“…”

“I have no idea.”

Chapter Text

“How’s life with the runaway vampire?”

Louis pulls a face at Daniel’s tone, and then turns his head, to look towards the bathroom, where Lestat is showering once more, softly singing to himself.

Daniel continues, his voice clearly reflecting certain suspicions. “I hear he seems… definitely more relaxed. Did you go and give him a massage?”

Louis clicks his tongue, not in the mood to lay it all out. “Something like that.” He inhales, deeply. “How is research coming along?”

“Just fine, the Talamasca sent me some more background information. Did you know that they lost track of Lestat after the fire?”

Louis frowns, staring unseeing through the opened curtains, out over the terrace. “They did?”

“Indeed.” Rustling of papers, and then a click, as Daniel obviously puts the phone down, and puts him on speaker. “And not for lack of trying.” The tiniest pause. “Why is that?”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean?”

Another click, as Daniel picks the phone back up, his voice a lot more direct. “I mean… the Talamasca keep tracking you and Armand, continuously, yes, but not meticulously if you will… and they let other vampires go, but Lestat…” Daniel huffs, a sound that could almost be a laugh. “The data I have here. The sheer amount of reports. It’s peculiar. They tried so hard to find him. And supposedly they didn’t…”

Louis works his jaw, running his tongue along his teeth. And now we brought them to him. “Why do you think that is?”

Daniel’s voice is vaguely sardonic. “I was hoping you could tell me?!”

Louis exhales, through his nose, and then walks past the bed towards the bathroom door, looking in through it. Lestat is still showering, barely visible through the fogged glass door of the shower, holding his head up into the spray.

Louis swallows, looking at the still new looking skin on his back, of his neck, when Lestat tilts his head sideways to rinse the shampoo from his hair. At the droplet of water, tracking down. “He must know something they want…”

Daniel’s voice is contemplative. “Or have something…”

Louis turns away, walking back to the window, slowly. “What could he possibly possess that …” He hesitates, the name still hard to say. “That Armand does not? That I do not?”

“Well, I don’t know Louis. But they seem very keen to get a hold of him.” The shortest pause. “A propos hold… how are you holding up? And how is he holding it together?”

Louis nods slowly, and then answers, a bit reluctantly. “I’m good, thank you for asking. He…” He shoots a look at the bathroom, but then shrugs to himself, speaking normally. “He seems to be a bit better.”

“Hmmm.” Daniel is typing something into his laptop, the voice a bit pressed, and Louis has the distinct impression the phone is wedged between his ear and shoulder. “Until the next relapse…”

Louis pulls a face, lowering his gaze to stare at his feet. “I guess it would help to know the triggers…”

“Indeed.” The tone is clearer again. “Does he believe that you’re actually there?”

Louis cackles, and then shrugs, unable to contain the motion. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Enough to try, I think.”

“It will be a while until he can trust you…” Daniel’s voice carries a note Louis cannot quite place. “In a way, it is the same for you, since not all you remember can be the truth.”

Louis frowns, deeply, pursing his lips. “I trust my feelings on the matter.”

Daniel snorts. “The same feelings you so happily displayed on the couch with Armand just a few weeks ago?”

Louis’ face shutters. “I did not know better then.”

“Exactly.” The word settles, with weight. “In a way, you and him have to start over, Louis. You both cannot quite trust your minds, or your memories. At least not right now.” Daniel seems to lean back, the chair creaking softly, the sound tin over the connection. “If he were fully himself he could probably confirm certain things for you…”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, tone dry. “If he were fully himself we wouldn’t be here…”

“Indeed.” There is a smile somewhere in Daniel’s tone. “Take it as an opportunity. For both of you.”

Louis swallows, rolling the words over in his mouth before he says them. “Relearn each other?”

“Something like that.” Daniel is definitely grinning now, his words shaping around it. “The chemistry is still there after all, isn’t it.”

Louis clears his throat. “That… was never the problem.”

“Right.” The tiniest pause, and Daniel sounds serious again, his voice calm. “Last question: do you feel safe with him?”

Louis hesitates, and then shoots another look towards the bathroom, where the shower has just stopped. “You mean because of… back then?”

Daniel hums. “Yes, for example.”

Louis presses his lips together for a moment. “I am not who I was, then.”

“That does not answer my question, Louis.”

Louis hesitates, and then locks his eyes with Lestat’s, who is just coming out of the bathroom, still tying the robe. “I am as safe as I can be.” He watches Lestat step closer, the still wet hair brushed back. The freckle at the base of his throat is barely visible. He remembers the sensation of the skin, under his lips.

He swallows. “I have to go now, Daniel.”

“Just one more thing!” Daniel interjects, with another rustling of papers.

Louis frowns, vaguely annoyed. “Yes?”

“The Talamasca have told me they plan to return your car to you, tomorrow night. One of their agents will come by the hotel.”

Louis bites his lips, a bit distracted by the way Lestat’s eyes darken. “They know where we are?”

Daniel exhales. “Oh yes. And as said - they are very keen to have access to Lestat. A… more or less mentally stable Lestat.”

Lestat reaches out, to take Louis’ hand with the phone, pulling it closer to himself, without breaking eye contact. “Thank you… Daniel.” His thumb finds the red button, tapping it to disconnect the call.

Louis runs his tongue along his throbbing fangs, trying to ignore how close Lestat is. And what that little fact is doing to his insides. He shoves the phone into his back pocket. “Should we relocate?”

Lestat lifts an eyebrow, the weight of his gaze an almost physical touch as it travels over Louis’ features, coming to rest on Louis’ lips for a long moment. “And waste a perfectly good and clean bed?” His hands come forward, fingers hooking into the belt hoops of Louis’ belt, pulling him forward, just a bit. Putting pressure, just there. “As … Daniel just insinuated… the Talamasca must have known where I was in New Orleans, Louis. They… must have reasons why they did not engage then.” He leans in, to whisper against Louis’ lips. “Which means there is no actual danger… they could have killed me, then, and easily I guess.”

Louis swallows, the skin of his lips flaring with heat where they touched. “Right.” He blinks, trying to think. “And you’re better, right, which means…”

He breaks off, when Lestat bends his neck, to press a kiss, just under his jaw.

Whispering the words against his skin. “Which means, if they are stupid enough to interrupt us now…” He trails off, touching the tip of his tongue against Louis’ skin.

Louis tilts his head, to give him more room.

Finishing the sentence, just as he lets the fangs drop, and reaches for the knot in Lestat’s tied bathrobe. “…they’ll be a snack, not a danger.”

******

The droplet of blood sweat tickles as it runs down his shoulder blade, but he cannot make himself care, his eyelids heavy, his body thrumming and beyond sated. And pulsing, in places that had not been used, for a while.

He undulates a bit, shifting to push himself back onto the bed, after having hung half off it. Lestat blinks up at him, full out flat on his stomach and taking up most of the bed, the eyes mostly hidden behind the now matted by blood sweat strands of hair, the scratches on his back and the fang marks on his thighs just healing, leaving smears of blood behind.

Louis blinks, slowly, biting his lips, chasing the taste of them for a moment before he bends down at an awkward angle to capture Lestat’s mouth, renewing it.

He breaks the kiss again, flopping down and onto his side, laying down uncaringly over Lestat’s left arm, wriggling until comfortable.

He sniffs, throat clicking as he swallows. “I think we need to shower again.”

There is no real answer from Lestat, just a non-verbal grunt, and the tiniest shift, to rub his nose along Louis’ shoulder.

Louis smirks, and then leans over a bit, to run a fingertip up the knobs of Lestat’s spine.

Teasing, gently. “Did I wear you out?”

There is a small growl now, and Louis cackles, and then bends down to run his lips along the sharp edges of a shoulder blade, his fingers gliding lower, feeling Lestat shift, to give him more room. It’s still wet there, sticky, and Louis can let the fingertips sink in, easily, pulling a groan from them both. His cock twitches, tiredly, and he grins to himself, leaning down to nuzzle into Lestat’s neck, words muffled. “I think you’re safe from me for now.”

Lestat’s answer is slightly slurred. “Don’t want to be safe…”

Louis shivers, closing his eyes for a moment against memory, his throat clicking. “Lestat, I…”

Lestat moves, turning over and pulling him down in one smooth motion, holding him close by the neck, their foreheads pressed together for a long moment. “Je sais.”

Louis exhales, through his nose, tears prickling, remembering the vision of Lestat waving his hand, saying it had been ‘a perfect betrayal’. “Do you?”

Lestat locks eyes with him, close distance, making them seem huge to Louis. “We cannot change the past, mon cher. As… much as we might want to.”

Louis’ face crumbles, suddenly, the flood of emotions triggered by this simple statement surprising him, the pain flaring, and immediate.

The words come from deep within himself, carried on a sob. “I missed you so much.”

“Shhh shhh.” Lestat tilts his head, to kiss the tears away. “It’s… alright.”

Louis frowns, capturing Lestat’s lips for an instant. “Is it?”

Lestat blinks, the gaze turning a bit more serious. “It will be.”

Louis exhales, watching him closely. “How can you be sure?”

Lestat shakes his head, just a bit, once. “I cannot be, Louis. But… we have the time. It… will be.” His throat clicks as he swallows. “After the pain, after the sorrow… there will be happiness again. Eventually.” He licks his lips. “There always is.”

Louis frowns, watching him, watching the shadows chase over Lestat’s face. “It’s how you endure.”

Lestat’s eyes flicker away, for just a moment. His answer carries weight, and pain. “It’s the only way we can.”

Louis closes his eyes, and then lowers his forehead down to rest it against Lestat’s, exhaling, deeply, feeling exhausted suddenly. “And all we have is each other.”

Lestat’s hands tighten, clasping in the small of Louis’ back.

His voice is barely audible. “Oui.”

******

“Mr. Du Lac, I am Maria Elenya, local field agent. Please call me Maria. It is my pleasure to assist you.”

Louis shakes the hand that is proffered, with a polite smile. “Maria. Thank you for… saving my car from the local authorities?” He ends on a question, watching a hint of guilt chase over the face of the young woman, which she cannot suppress at his words. He tries to read her mind, but her mind is locked, and firmly.

Lestat chimes up, standing half a step away from him, having let Louis take the lead for the meeting after a solid half-hour argument, which had made Louis remember exactly why he and Lestat had butted heads so often in the past. “A most pleasing coincidence.”

Louis shoots him a look, vaguely annoyed, but Maria is faster, answering with a tilted eyebrow, while the smile on her face never wavers. “Yes, Mr. De Lioncourt. As was us salvaging a… bathtub just the other day, before someone else could.” She smiles, turning her gaze to Louis. “We are happy to help.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “We were wondering why...”

Maria tilts her head, the dark brown hair that is up in a pony tail gleaming in the light of the lamps. Her brown eyes sparkle with careful humor. “I believe you discussed that with the New York City motherhouse?” She shoots Lestat a look, and the turns to a group of armchairs, around a small coffee table that is to the side of the hotel’s lobby.

She keeps talking as she steps over, and sits down in the chair with the best view of the lobby, smiling up at them, while they follow her example. “And we are most pleased with the prospect of our arrangement including Mr. De Lioncourt, of course.”

Louis works his jaw, shooting Lestat a look, who seems fine enough. Stable enough.

He clears his throat. “His participation was not part of what I negotiated. I don…”

Lestat interjects, his voice calm. “It is alright, Louis…” He winks at Louis. “They know we come as… what is the saying? A package.”

Louis mumbles, under his breath. “It’s ‘Come in pairs.’”

“Indeed.” Lestat shoots him a smile, that has a bit of a bite to it. “Be that as it may, I believe this… Talamasca has had enough…” He hesitates, and then emphasizes, heavily. ”time to retrieve certain knowledge. Why come here, now?”

Maria’s smile flickers, but returns immediately. “We were just supporting Mr. Du Lac, there was no ulter…”

Lestat interjects, his expression kind, but his tone is hard. “No, you were not.”

Louis frowns, and then reaches over, to touch his wrist, silently asking for the lead they agreed upon. Lestat’s nostrils flare, but he leans back, crossing his legs, pasting a smile on.

Louis exhales, and then pastes one on himself. “Maria, we thank you for your… support of course.” He hums, leaning a bit forward. “I object though to your inclusion of Lestat in the deal.” He hesitates, then emphasizes heavily. “I made that deal. I will follow it through with Daniel.”

Something flickers in Maria’s eyes. From the corner of his own Louis can see Lestat narrow his. “Should we not let Mr. De Lioncourt make that decision?”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but Lestat is faster, leaning forward to literally purr the words. “And what makes you think I would honor any arrangement…”

Maria licks her lips, her smile taking on a bit of a forced note. Louis wonders how long she is a field agent already, and where she is stationed. Probably Buenos Aires, would be his guess.

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can probably find a more… suiting arrangement in time?” She lifts her eyebrows, her gaze going from Lestat to Louis, and then back. “I would not wish to… impose.”

She hesitates, and Louis tilts his head, her whole body language suddenly off. He tries to read her mind again, but it is still locked, and firmly. He wonders how much of her concentration that might take.

Louis tilts his head, pressing his lips together for a short moment, before spreading his hands. “If that is all?”

Maria inhales, and then nods, once, shooting another look at Lestat.

She turns back to Louis, and then shrugs, pulling up her bag, to rummage around in it. After a moment, she pulls out a card, holding it out for Louis to take. “My number is on the back. Please call, if you need assistance.”

Louis reaches out, to take it, holding it for a moment, to contemplate the offer. “And why would we need assis…”

Her phone starts ringing, a beautiful melody, precisely presented, with feeling. It takes Louis a moment to realize, the snippet for the ring tone is taken from the middle of a piece after all, a piece from Chopin, from what he remembers… Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor.

Louis thinks: Lestat would know that better.

He turns to look at Lestat, only to find the seat empty.

A shiver runs down his spine, and he turns to Maria, slowly, Maria, who is watching him with a mixture of elation and nervosity, her smile more genuine once more, the eyes sparkling. “As I said - if you require assistance - call us.”

She gets up, and then turns to walk out of the lobby, hurriedly, without looking back, and Louis watches her go, a bit flabbergasted.

He hesitates, and then feels for Lestat, more relieved than he cares to admit when he finds the feeling within, when the heartbeat is somewhere close.

Still. There is a bit of a tension inside of him, that he cannot quite calm, a close-to-panic feeling that churns in his guts.

He hurries out of the lobby, the hallways of the hotel seeming way too long, the recognition of Lestat being in their room not helping.

He pushes the door open, after fumbling for the key for a moment, breathless, the words dying on his lips. “What the he…”

Lestat does not look up, sitting on the bed, with the broken off door of the closet, nails scratching key outlines into the wood. Smearing blood onto the wood.

His head is moving in a slow rhythm, to a melody only he can hear.

Louis shivers, violently.

He steps in, his throat closed off, silently closing the door behind him.

Lestat does not look up, gaze faraway, as he crafts his little makeshift piano keyboard.

Louis licks his lips, keeps his voice soft. “Lestat?” No reaction. He grimaces, inhaling deeply, and then steps up, to kneel down in front of him, in direct line of vision. Trying again. “Lestat?”

Lestat’s eyes flicker up. “Oh, Louis. I have to practice.”

Louis frowns, and then tilts his head, tone imploring. “Does this… Does now seem right to you?”

Lestat blinks, frowning as well, hesitating, before starting to scratch at the wood again. “Right?”

Louis exhales. “Yes, like…” He trails off, as Lestat makes another cut in his finger, to smear blood on a ‘half key’. He swallows, changing tactics. “How many… pianos have you made?”

Lestat blinks up, and then he shrugs. “A few. I still have to practice.” His eyes flicker away. “I think Argerich has retired.” He shrugs. “If I ever want to be as good as her, I have to practice for a while yet.”

Louis nods, slowly, and then watches as Lestat finishes ‘painting’ his keyboard, and starts to practice, the Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, by Chopin.

Of course.

Louis closes his eyes, and just tries to breathe.

******

“I am telling you Daniel, they knew how to trigger him, and they did so, intentionally.”

“But why?” Daniel’s voice is clearly skeptical, carried on an exhale. “What would be the goal of … taking Lestat out of the equation so to speak?” Louis can hear the way Daniel pulls a face. “Especially after you just found him again, and after he seemed a bit better?”

“It just does not make sense!!” Louis hisses through his teeth, softly hitting his own fist against his forehead. “The state he’s in, the letters, the chase, the damned suicide attempt…” He shakes his head, his voice very quiet. “Nothing of it makes sense.”

Daniel hums. “You don’t have all the pieces yet.”

Louis pulls a face. “Pieces?”

“Of the puzzle.” Daniel seems to take a sip of something, smacking his lips a bit after. “It’s a biiiiigg puzzle.”

Louis pulls a face, the hand against his forehead shading his eyes now, trying to ignore the comings and goings in the lobby.

His voice is flat. “I hate puzzles.”

Daniel cackles, his amusement clear. “I can empathize, but… well.” The shortest pause. “What do you intend to do now?”

Louis lets his hand flop down, taps the leather armrest repeatedly before answering. “I do not know.”

“Where is he now?”

Louis rolls his shoulders. “In our room.” His voice turns sardonic, the words tasting bitter. “Practicing on his makeshift keyboard.”

Daniel seems to mull on the words before he speaks them. “Maybe you should take him home?”

Louis grimaces, looking out the window for a long moment, before he answers. “Home… I don’t think I have one. Dubai is… well. And Rue Royale belongs to someone else still.”

Daniel’s voice carries a sly undertone. “Has he one?”

Louis works his jaw. “Good question. I mean, he obviously has… properties. As we know.”

There is the shuffling of papers. “Home is where the heart is.”

Louis lifts his head, to look at the ceiling, vaguely annoyed. “Which does not exactly help in this situation, Daniel.”

Louis can hear some frustration creep into Daniel’s tone now. “And where did he grow up?”

Louis’ tone is clipped. “France.”

He can hear the side-eye Daniel gives him, phone or not. “And where exactly? Maybe there is somewhere you can t…”

Louis bites the words out. “I don’t know.”

There is a small pause. And then the rather anticipated reaction, carrying incredulity. “You were with the guy for decades and you don’t know?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “He never really talked about anything. I…” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t pry too much.” He frowns, lowering his voice. “Also, I think…” He trails off, working his jaw. “He mentioned Marius, and not understanding why the Talamasca would know.” He rubs the hand across his brows. “I think there was some kind of gag order.”

“But that has fallen away now, obviously.” Daniel clicks his tongue. “Ask him shit.”

Louis cackles, and then sobers, slowly, with a sigh. “It’s not that easy.”

“No?” Daniel seems to chew on some kind of cracker. “Why?”

Louis stares into space for a long moment, pressing his lips together.

When he finally speaks again, he forces himself to admit it. “Because I’m afraid of what he’ll say.”

I’m afraid of what his version of our story will reveal about my memories.

I’m afraid of what I stand to lose what little I have left of… her.

And myself.

*******

He returns to the room a little while later, after having sat in the lobby for long silent minutes after the call ended, after Daniel’s silence had spoken, loudly.

Lestat is sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall with his knees pulled up, the keyboard across them. His fingers are gliding over the wood, nimble and sure, his head following the melody that only he can hear with gentle tilts.

Louis hesitates for a long moment, his hunger rising for a long moment, but he suppresses it, walking over and sitting down next to Lestat on the other side of the bed instead. A small smile flits over Lestat’s face, there and gone again, but it’s enough to relax something deep inside Louis.

He stares at the opposite wall for a long moment, before speaking up, his tone careful. “Lestat, if you were to go home… where would that be?”

Lestat’s finger hesitate, for a split second. “She is my home.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “New Orleans.” No answer, and Louis shoots Lestat a look, fidgeting. “But that little house is gone, and Rue Royale…”

Lestat interrupts, his tone dreamy. “Still the place where I was happiest.” A shadow falls over his face. “Until…” He trails off, his fingers coming up to trace the base of his throat, with a frown, before he drops the hand again, taking up the playing again.

Louis grimaces, biting his lip for a moment, watching him. “I have asked your lawyer in New Orleans to reacquire Rue Royale for us.”

Lestat blinks up, to meet his eyes for a split second. “Christine! How is she?”

Louis smiles, very softly. “Competent.” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I should call her, find out what the status is.”

Lestat frowns, returning to his keyboard. “Status?”

Louis inhales, pushing his tongue to his left fang until it hurts. “Yeah.” He rolls his neck, watches the fingers play silent music. “It’s okay, I’ll…” He clicks his tongue, feeling very tired suddenly. “I’ll figure it out.”

He lifts his hand, hesitating before he pushes Lestat’s hair behind his right ear, earning a little smile. “You keep on practicing.”

*******

The road is silent, and dark, the few other cars dark shadow he passes without really looking.

Lestat is on the back seat, makeshift keyboard wedged between the seats, his fingers gliding still, silently conjuring music only he can hear.

Louis’ hunger is a roar, and Buenos Aires is closer by the minute.

*******

He feeds on someone homeless at the side of the road under a flyover, afraid to leave Lestat alone in the car. Like a cat, or a dog, lest they run away. He sniffs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, before pulling the cardboard over the body, knowing no-one will find the victim for days. Not here, off the beaten track.

He reaches for the guilt, but it’s buried somewhere beneath his concern for Lestat, his thoughts very much preoccupied. Feeding is a necessity, otherwise he might just end up eating Daniel.

Who is waiting at the hotel, with Raglan.

Who supposedly only showed up to check in on Daniel, and the book’s progress.

Louis scoffs. Of course. No coincidence at all that he is coming in with Lestat.

He hesitates, hand on the door handle, watching Lestat play on the keyboard inside. A sudden unwillingness to bring Lestat to the Talamasca rises within him, almost a repulsion at the thought.

He curses quietly to himself, shaking his head at himself. I should have done this a few days ago already.

He dials the number by memory, Svenya picking up on the second ring. “Mr. Du Lac. Where can we pick you up?”

He closes his eyes, suddenly relieved by his own decision. “Please pick me and my guest up in Buenos Aires, as soon as possible. I will… stay at a hotel at the airport until you arrive.”

He can hear Svenya get up, picking up a bag. He knows it’s always packed. “Of course. I will send you our ETA as soon as we know it.”

He smiles, knowing she can hear it in his voice. “Thank you, Svenya.”

A click, and the call disconnects, and he breathes in, a weight he didn’t know he was carrying dropping away. He looks at Lestat, who has started to sing softly to himself, apparently making up lyrics to the piano piece he is practicing.

Louis nods to himself, before he pulls the car door open, and then gets in, feeling much better than before.

*******

“What do you mean, you’re not coming here.”

Louis shrugs, letting himself drop back, phone in hand, the bed soft beneath his back. “A late decision, I apologize.” He shoots a look at Lestat, who is sitting on the small sofa next to the bed, leg propped up on the armchair across from him, playing silently on the piano. “I had to rearrange my priorities.”

“Mh hmm.” Daniel does not sound particularly impressed. “There was a call from the hotel you stayed in… apparently they were not too happy that you destroyed the wardrobe.”

Louis frowns. “And they had your number … how?”

Daniel exhales, in a rush. “Apparently a certain Maria Elenya came by and gave it to them. The hotel insinuated she was not too happy about you leaving either.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “How petty of them.” He bites his lip for a moment. “About that, Daniel, I… cannot uphold my end of the bargain as I thought I could.”

A short pause at the end of the line. “Meaning?”

Louis frowns, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. “My priorities are different now.”

There is a short pause, and Louis can almost hear the smirk that colors the words. “What are your priorities, Louis?”

Louis’ frown deepens, and he runs his tongue over his teeth before answering. “Interestingly enough, it’s the same goal as our interview - truth and reconciliation.”

Daniel hums. “A good goal.” A beat. “Why does it not fit with the book?”

Louis exhales, shaping the words as he thinks about it. “Because you will need to publish the book with the Talamasca… and the Talamasca want something. The Talamasca want Lestat I think. I am not sure for what, or why. Yet. But them triggering Lestat…”

Silence, on the line.

Eventually Daniel seems to heave a sigh. “Fine. But I expect you to call me back when I call you. And I want a first class flight back.”

Louis snorts softly. “Obviously.” He stretches on the bed, unfocusing his eyes for a moment. “And I will let Fareed know, for the medication.”

“I would absolutely love to interview Seth by the way.”

Louis grins. “Oh, I’m sure.” He sobers a bit. “Seth is only there for Fareed though.”

Daniel’s voice has a dreamy touch to it. “A true ancient. And love that transcends the ages.” The smallest pause. “Quite the age gap, too.”

Louis blinks, slowly. “Lestat would have been long dead before he could even possibly meet me if he had not become a vampire…” He shakes his head, once. “These mortal hang ups with age gaps do not pertain to us.”

Daniel exhales. “It would make it almost impossible to find love, I guess.”

Louis swallows. “Quite.” He shoots a look at Lestat, and pain shoots through him, squeezing his heart, making it heart to breathe for a long moment. He forces himself to breathe through it, concentrating on the movements of Lestat’s fingers on the wood before he speaks again, his voice brittle. “Darkness, ever lasting, and loneliness.” He inhales a shaky breath. “It’s no wonder a lot of vampires cling to love with bloody fingernails.”

Daniel’s voice is soft, obviously trying to soften the blow. “You have not been alone for long stretches of time yet.”

Anger shoots through Louis, and then ebbs away, into pain. “Still.” He scoffs, shaking his head on the pillow with his eyes closed. “I saw… I experienced how both Lestat and… Armand acted, first hand, didn’t I. And I…” He licks his lips. “I got a taste of it when I traveled through Europe, with… her.”

There is the sound of cloth, shifting, as Daniel obviously changes his position a bit. “That played into your decision to stay in Paris with her, didn’t it.”

Louis pulls a face. “I could not leave her.” He swallows, and then reopens his eyes, to stare at the ceiling. “I should have made her leave though.”

Daniel’s voice is flat. “That would have only prolonged the inevitable.”

Louis’ voice breaks on the words. “You cannot know that.”

Daniel sighs. “Louis. She was doomed from the start. And you know that.”

The world wobbles, turns red, and then the tears drop, run down the sides of Louis’ face, his breath caught in his chest. For a moment he hears Lestat, warning him, with that tone to his voice, the tears and desperation in it, too.

Louis works his jaw, exhaling, and then sniffs. “Yeah, I know.” He swallows, his throat clicking. “Accepting is something entirely different though.”

Daniel’s carries warmth. “I know.”

A shadow falls over Louis, and Lestat is there, his expression concerned, staring down at Louis.

Louis gives him a bit of a wobbly smile, but addresses Daniel. “I… gotta go, Daniel. Talk to you soon.”

He disconnects the call, letting the hand with the phone drop just as Lestat bends down over him, to kiss the tears away, lips gliding softly over Louis’ face, a kiss to the edge of Louis’ eye, on his temple, on his cheek.

The tears arise anew, and Louis sobs, arms reaching up to pull Lestat down by his neck, hold him close, feeling those lips travel, partake.

The tears are different to before, different even at the reunion, when they had been triggered by their shared grief, and seeing Lestat again, and the relief, because of that. Now, they seem to come from deep within Louis, reach into the nooks and shadows of his soul that he wants to protect, and cannot, not from him, not here.

Not now.

It is an offering, a cleansing.

A sacrament.

This is my body, this is my blood.

And Louis accepts.

Chapter Text

Lestat is not a force to be reckoned with.

The thought runs through Louis’ head, somewhere between Mexico and Louisiana, while he absentmindedly strokes Lestat’s hair, and watches the dark clouds and waves way down below through the little window to his left, sitting leaned back on the long sofa at the back of his plane.

Lestat is dozing, laid out the length of it, head on Louis’ lap, his hands still loosely holding the makeshift keyboard.

Louis had tried to make him leave it behind, and had given up, almost immediately, after seeing the flash of panic in Lestat’s eyes.

Coping mechanisms do not need to be logical, he knows that. And he knows Lestat loves music… and performing. In a strange way, it makes sense.

There is his wine on the small table once more, three bottles, almost empty.

He had been thirsty. Even Lestat had had some.

If Svenya or his pilots ever wonder they never let it dictate their thoughts, which Louis finds impressive in and by itself, if he is honest.

A small shudder runs through the airplane, a little turbulence, just some air.

It triggers a shudder that runs through Louis, a memory triggered by sensation, and he tenses for a split second, before he relaxes again, with an effort.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are soft, almost inaudible, and Louis frowns, belatedly looking down at Lestat, who is turning a bit, onto his back, to look up at Louis.

Louis swallows. “… ’s okay.” He swallows again, trying to make his voice firm. “It’s been a long time.” He laughs softly, lifting his eyebrows. “You hear the accent comin’ back? It’s somethin’ that  has been creepin’ up ever since I set foot into New Orleans again.”

A small smile flickers over Lestat’s face. “I like your accent.”

Louis puts in on a bit more. “I know you do!” He grins, and then lets it recede again, deliberately. “I have removed myself from any accents though, over the last few decades. I still… I still like it, and it does creep in when I…” He hesitates, and then continues, after a moment. “It’s not who I am though. Not anymore.”

Lestat watches him, his eyes flickering over Louis’ face, like a touch. Louis reaches out, to brush hair from Lestat’s forehead, wondering how easy it seems to be together. How right.

Lestat exhales. The makeshift keyboard is laid out over his chest, like a shield again, held loosely. “We change through the times, and yet stay the same.” His eyes seem to unfocus, stare into space. “Words, phrases, traditions… they pass us by, shaping us and then releasing us into the maelstrom of time once more.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Dark.” He clicks his tongue. “And poetic.” He tilts his head, looking down at Lestat again. He hesitates, and then adds, returning to the apology. “You don’t have to apologize anymore… you… did, on that stage, remember?”

Lestat blinks, very slowly. “I …” He works his jaw, his voice brittle. “I am glad you forgive me.”

Louis releases a shuddering breath, feeling unmoored. “I…” He licks his lips, looking away for a second before his gaze returns to Lestat’s, almost defiantly. “You know, in all the anger and pain and terror, the worst thing was that I knew you meant the apology. That I knew…” He trails off.

Lestat’s gaze is shadowed, his face drawn.

He seems to recite, almost. “We know how to hurt those we love, because we love them.”

Louis watches him, debating asking, and then just does. “Did that happen to you? Often, I mean?”

A weird expression passes over Lestat’s face, a mix of pain and humor, and resignation. “I have made many mistakes, Louis.” He blinks up, to lock his gaze with Louis’. “But you were not one of them.” He swallows. “Turning you, I mean. Choosing you.” His voice drops, to a whisper. “I would always come to the same decision.”

Louis frowns, quirking an eyebrow.

The words are heavy, like lead on his tongue, making them hard to shape. “Funny. I recently came to the same… realization.” I told you.

Lestat shifts again, his face turned towards Louis’ chest a bit more.

There is so much hope in his voice suddenly it makes Louis want to weep again, or scream. “Really?”

Louis smiles, a brittle little smile, as he swallows down the disappointment of Lestat forgetting. “Really.” He works his jaw for a moment. “I… meant what I said in that… shed.”

One hand lifts from the makeshift keyboard, to reach up, touch Louis’ jaw.

Lestat seems to start to say something, and then dismiss it, and again, before he finally speaks, his voice careful, and soft. “We have eternity.”

Louis exhales, feeling the plane shudder again, but he manages not to tense this time.

He nods, slowly, and then licks his lips, letting his fingertips glide through the golden strands again. “And they say that time heals all the wounds.”

Lestat blinks, very slowly, his voice a breath. “So they say.”

*******

“Christine, thank you for meeting with me again.”

Christine Claire smiles, stepping back to hold the door open for Louis. There are dark circles under her eyes, a few strands of hair falling into her eyes, having escaped the low pony tail she wears. The costume she wears is wrinkled. “Of course, Mr. Du Lac.”

Louis smiles pleasantly. “Have you heard about… my travels?”

Christine extends her hand towards her office, walking next to him. “Word travels. We have connections.”

Louis hums. “Of course.” He steps into the office, sitting down in the chair he sat in just a few days ago. The deja-vu is clear, and unsettling, and he lets it pass, with an effort. “I hope I do not interrupt something important.”

Christine sighs, sitting down in her seat as well, with a small shrug. “A hectic case. Nothing that pertains to you.” She holds up her hand, lifting a finger. “Oh, but we have acquired Royal Street 1132 for you.”

Louis blinks, his tone just a bit too high. “That fast?”

Christine shoots him a smile. “The owner was eager to move. She accepted our offer immediately.”

Louis leans back, folds his hands on his lap, crosses his legs.

He feels slightly proud. “That’s… convenient.”

Christine quirks an eyebrow. “We did offer way above current price level, as discussed. But yes, it was a lot easier than anticipated.”

Louis exhales, nodding to himself, and then licks his lips, breaching the subject a bit hesitantly. “Has word reached you as well that I…”

Christine leans back, her eyes clear and knowing. “We have come to know that you found the… son of our esteemed client. We are preparing the transferal of assets as per defined procedure.” A beat. “Will you want to live at Royal Street 1132?” She tilts her head. “I am just asking, because we have not initiated renovations yet. The previous owner left most of the furniture, but it might not be to your tastes.”

“Uhhh…” Louis hesitates, running his tongue along his teeth. There’s so much history. And yet…  “Can we… discuss that in a few days? I would like to stay there and decide what to do with it, to be frank…” He waves his hand. “No worries about the state, I will be fine for a few days.”

Christine frowns a bit, but then nods. “Of course, if you’re sure.” She gets up, to walk over to a cabinet to the side, pulling out a drawer. She reaches in to pull out a manila envelope, stepping over to hand it to Louis. “The keys to the house, as well as a copy of the contract, should any problems arise please refer to me. We will make sure the transition goes as smoothly as possible.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, staring down at the envelope for a moment, feeling the keys inside. He wonders suddenly if it’s still the same keys, to the lock. The front door had seemed the same, maybe a few more layers of lacquer, but all in all…

He clears his throat, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Thank you.” He hesitates. “Do you need…” He stumbles over not knowing whether she knows the name, but then just says it, secrecy be damned. “Do you need Lestat here in person?”

Christine steps back over to her seat, sitting down with a little sigh. “At some point.” She shoots Louis a look that seems almost a wink. “We have come to expect longer… absences, it will be no trouble.”

Louis nods. “Right.” He clicks his tongue, and then smiles, watching Christine echo the smile. “Thank you.”

Christine nods, and then turns back to her computer for a split second, before she sighs. “Mr. Du Lac, I do not wish to be rude, but…”

Louis holds up a hand, with a shake of his head. “I’m already off.” He gets up, reaching out to shake her hand. “Thank you for all your help.”

Christine shakes it, the only thought in her mind one of being able to get back to the other case, a case about an inheritance dispute, which had been eating all her time. “My pleasure.”

*******

Louis breathes in, deeply, when he leaves the building, the night clear, but humid.

It feels weird, to know he will go home… Home. Such a simple word. And yet one he had always used for Rue Royale, Royal Street… no matter what had happened there.

It had been home.

He nods to himself, and then holds up a hand for a taxi, directing it to the hotel he put Lestat up in.

*******

He finds Lestat as he left him, playing softly on the wooden keyboard, a few more scratches on it, a little more blood.

Lestat is holding the makeshift keyboard differently though, up over his pulled up knees, and the piece he seems to be hearing seems to be a different one from before as well, a bit faster.

More lively.

Louis is definitely taking that for a good sign.

He approaches quietly, shooting Lestat a smile when he looks up, for a split second, acknowledging Louis’ presence, another good sign in Louis’ opinion.

Louis holds up the envelope, jiggles it a bit, the keys inside clinking softly. “Look what I got!”

Lestat tilts his head, his eyes returning to the keyboard for a moment, but he actually responds, his voice quiet but sure. “What is it?”

Louis walks over to him, hesitating for a moment before he kneels down, reaching out to wrap his free hand loosely around Lestat’s ankles, stroking the skin with his thumb. “It’s the keys to home.”

*******

Lestat is standing in the bedroom of Rue Royale, staring at the bed, the keyboard like a shield cross his body once more, with a snarl of disgust.

His only words at Louis bringing him back, and leading him through the house had been at them entering the bedroom, namely: “This is not our bed.”

It had both annoyed and thrilled Louis, the emotion also carrying an almost unhealthy and definitely unwise amount of anticipation.

He returns to the bedroom now, with some pillows and blankets he had delivered here earlier, pulling off the plastic covers. “It will do for now. We can discuss what we want to do with the house when…” He trails off, suddenly not sure how to finish.

When they have made up? Too simple.

When they have planned their future? Too… romantic.

When Lestat is better? Better not to touch that subject.

He exhales, and then finishes, lamely. “When we’ve fed.”

“Hmm.” Lestat frowns, still staring at the bed. “I’ll wait here.”

Louis frowns as well, watching him, his own hunger roaring now that he has acknowledged it. “You don’t want to hunt?”

Lestat purses his lips, eyes still fixed on the bed, and Louis has the distinct impression that he is holding back from incinerating it on the spot. “I’m not hungry.”

Louis blinks, trying to remember how much of the ‘wine’ on the plane Lestat had drunk. He’d had some… but now that Louis is thinking about it, he had not had that much. Most of it Louis had drunk.

He inhales. “Alright. But… I will.” He licks his lips. “In a bit.” He fluffs the pillows, and then puts them onto the bed, stepping back to find Lestat staring at him, the eyes like lasers. “What?”

Lestat’s voice is acerbic. “This bed is an abomination. No sheets, no blankets, the design a soulless modern monstrosity.”

Louis shakes his head, caught somewhere between amusement and wild annoyance, unable to hide both the bite and the soft laughter from his tone. “Yeah, well, you know I did not have time to replace it yet, I needed to chase after someone instead.”

Lestat narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth, and Louis expects a biting retort, but he closes it again, visibly deflating, just a bit. “Je sais.”

Louis nods, and then exhales, with something in his stomach relaxing at that sliver of the ‘old’ Lestat.

He steps closer, tilting his head towards the now walk-in closet. Repeating the joke he had thought of only a few days ago, or what seems like an eternity. “Guess we were staying in the closet back then after all.”

Lestat’s eyes flicker to the closet, and Louis can literally see the penny drop, the resulting small snort and almost-groan making Louis grin.

Lestat quirks an eyebrow. “As long as we do not do so now…” There is something that passes over his face, something that makes him seem beyond vulnerable, there and gone again. “Louis, I…”

Louis shakes his head, holding his hand up to place his fingers over Lestat’s lips. “Don’t.” He closes his eyes for a long moment, and then continues, his voice scratchy. “Let’s get well first. Both of us I mean. Let’s… snap back into life first.” He inhales, deeply, locking his eyes with Lestat’s. “And then we can go and apologize, and subsequently yell at each other again.”

Lestat snorts softly, the puff of air tickling Louis’ skin. “Very well.”

Louis nods, and then pulls his fingers from Lestat’s lips, something within shifting.

The air seems to heat up.

He clears his throat. “You know they made a bathroom from the space behind Claudia’s hidden closet.”

Lestat blinks. “A bathroom?”

Louis grins. “Yeah, it’s juuuuuust big enough for a miniature sink, a toilet, and a glass-walled shower…”

Lestat hums, watching him, they pupils dilating. “We should have a proper bathroom with a big tub.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “We should.” He looks down between them, pointedly. “But the keyboard is not waterproof.”

He expects Lestat to quip, but he only quirks an eyebrow, the voice soft. “I could stop practicing for a while…”

Louis smiles at him, feeling wildly relieved. “Yeah?”

Lestat blinks up to him, with a bit of a grimace. “Oui.”

Louis inhales, deeply, his hands dropping down to touch the hands that hold the keyboard. “How about you have a break now?”

Lestat hums, hesitates, and then his voice drops, doing that gravelly thing that turns Louis’ insides to mush. “Sounds good.”

Louis exhales, taking the keyboard with one hand and throws it away and into the closet, while his other hand comes up to pull Lestat in for a kiss. “Good.”

******

“I think we might need to shower.”

“In that miniature bathroom?”

“The shower is surprisingly big, given the space.”

“I could also clean you with my tongue.”

“… I am torn between ‘ewwww’ and… “

“Yes please?”

“To my eternal shame, yes.”

“I can just start with your beautiful jaw line…”

“…”

“Was that your stomach?”

“… As much as I appreciate the offer, I am really hungry. As you just heard.”

“I am glad it is two legs now.”

“Let’s… not have this discussion now.”

“What discussion?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Lestat.”

“Louis.”

“…”

“…”

“… Let’s shower.”

“Very well.”

******

Louis turns his face up into the spray, hyper aware of Lestat’s gaze, watching him, unashamedly and very focused, which Louis is taking as another good sign.

Also, it makes him feel… hot, somewhere under his skin.

He turns the water off, turning to Lestat, who holds up a towel for him, freshly taken out of the packaging, not yet washed, but still warm and fluffy.

Lestat rubs the water off gently, his eyes following the movements of the towel over Louis’ skin. It’s sensual, slow and careful, and Louis feels as if caught in a spell, watching Lestat watch him.

He clears his throat as Lestat sinks down, drying his legs as well, face very close to his… longing.

He snorts, shaking his head as Lestat shoots him a look. “Just remembered your letter.”

“Which one?” Lestat leans in, to press a kiss to Louis’ inner thigh, where he bit earlier. Louis’ cock twitches, somewhat tiredly.

Louis inhales. “The one I read in Paris.”

“Ah.” Lestat nuzzles in, right under Louis’ balls, inhaling deeply against Louis’ perineum.

Louis’ brain freezes, blood rushing elsewhere, and fast. “Jesus, Lestat, I…”

A slow lick. “I can stop?”

Louis exhales, shudderingly, belatedly realizing his hand is already on Lestat’s head, fingers threaded through he strands. He shifts his hip and leg, to give Lestat more room, deciding to throw reason to the proverbial winds. “Don’t you dare.”

There is a chuckle, and then lips, gliding over his cock. Just gently, touch and drag, and then a nip, without teeth, a tease. Hands, gliding around Louis’ thighs, pulling him closer. Stubble, scratching, just a bit. The tip of a tongue, in the slit, dipping in.

Shivers, down Louis’ spine.

He’s hard, and Lestat sighs as he drags the side of his face along Louis’ cock, along the veins.

Louis bites his lips, and then tightens his fingers, just a bit, wanting the pleasure, but he’s also hungry, so hungry, and the need is sharp suddenly, fusing to get there, now.

Not the time for much foreplay, not now, after they already made use of the bed.

And not now that the need will only stoke Louis’ own desire for a taste.

There is a breathless chuckle, and then wet heat, engulfing him.

Louis lets his head fall back, groaning, loudly, the tiles of the little room reflecting the sound, intensifying the need threaded through it.

Lestat does not tease, his throat opening to squeeze around Louis’ cock head, making him see stars. The perfect rhythm, instinct and experience, and fingers, rubbing, teasing, pressing, sparks of almost-pain, when fingers breach him, reach deep, perfectly.

Bring him higher, and higher, knowing so well.

Breath, suspended, on thundering heartbeat.

A rub, deep within, timed with gentle sucking.

Louis’ orgasm breaks, like a wave, starting in his toes, and making him convulse, with a shout, a whiteout that is blinding, and makes his knees buckle.

He falls over Lestat, wheezing, and then laughing, feeling his cock slip from Lestat’s mouth as he also smiles, and then lifts his head just a bit to press a kiss to Louis’ stomach.

Louis tries to speak, his tongue feeling heavy. “Great. My knees are weak. So much for hunting.”

Lestat purrs against his skin. “I have an idea for a little power boost if you’re in the mood…”

Louis snickers, and then pushes up, with a sigh, chasing the high for a moment before he steps back, grinning at Lestat’s definitely anticipated pout. “Oh yeah?”

Lestat licks his lips, slowly. “Just a little shot of blood…” He waggles his eyebrows, with a mischievous grin. “I can recommend.”

Louis snorts, and then pulls him up, by his hair, firmly but gently.

He nudges Lestat’s nose, and then tilts his head for a kiss, chasing the taste of himself in Lestat’s mouth until all breath is gone once more, and the hunger roars again, fused lust and actual thirst.

He swallows, opening heavily lidded eyes, to find Lestat’s stare at him, almost black.

Lestat bites his lips. “Should I shower, too?”

Louis swallows, wanting the taste, badly. But also the vision, of water on skin. Droplets running down, like a touch. “Maybe?” He turns them, pushing Lestat backwards, under the shower head, feeling the hot length bump against his stomach on every step, leaving another kind of wetness behind.

He blinks, reaching out blindly to turn on the water, inhaling shudderingly as the water cascades down and over Lestat’s body. He steps back a bit to watch, his right hand pushing the glass door open till it stays.

Lestat tilts his head, watching him, as always proud and at ease with his own body, or at least seemingly so. There is always the tiniest bit of performance to it, a stretch, a bend, a position, a leg bent, at once as enticing as it could be vaguely grating, something removed or hidden, from the observer.

It had taken Louis years until he had noticed it, this performance, this hiding in plain sight. Superficiality, hiding the depths beneath.

Even when naked.

There are only hints of it now, but it is there, and suddenly Louis wonders, a lot more than he ever did before, the previous annoyance over it nonexistent.

He knows he has to ask, eventually.

But he is not in the mood now.

He lets his gaze travel, freely, unashamedly, watching the muscles ripple, as Lestat tilts his head up a bit, the torso shifting with the motion, the stomach pulling taut.

The cock is standing proudly, hiding the few hairs that travel down from the navel from Louis’ view, the hairs that he knows the feeling of, the hairs that he used to kiss down.

The loss of that time, their time, is sudden, and vicious.

He gasps, and then more or less falls to his knees, his face coming forward, falling against the wet skin, to the side of Lestat’s hip, his hands holding the thighs, in a grip that would hurt anyone else.

He’s actually not sure if it does hurt Lestat, but Lestat does not give any indication, and Louis just presses closer, the hot skin so close he can feel the phantom sensation on his lips. Water drops down over and onto him as well, tickling on his back.

There is a sigh above him, and then finger nails, softly scratching over his scalp, with a breathed sigh. “Louis.”

Louis inhales, shakily, and then stifles the words that want to spill by lifting his head, and finally getting that taste, the taste he is hungry for.

Precome, and blood. His blood.

He groans, his mind and vision gone, focused only on the single source of need, no finesse now, not much of a rhythm.

He pushes at the foreskin with his tongue, wanting more, more taste, more scent, more silky skin, opening his mouth wide to push in, the feeling of possession sublime. The very base element of Lestat, condensed into a scent that drives him mad, diluted by water, and the pressure of his cock making room for itself in Louis’ throat, for just a moment.

He groans, withdrawing and then does it again, feeling himself gag, just a bit, the way the tears are prickling. The weight on his tongue is heat, a promise of fulfillment that has nothing much to do with any conscious decision.

Base instinct now, and abandon.

He’s encouraging Lestat to move, to take, hearing his name whispered again, on a sigh, and it tears at him, makes him suck harder, run his tongue along the veins with a little more pressure.

The wet, slurping sounds are lewd, and they satisfy.

Louis can feel the tension, can feel the build-up. He groans, hears an answering groan, and then more precome, on his tongue. Not long now, and his lips twitch, into a smile, a grin, an indulgence. He swirls his tongue around the head again, and into the slit, before pulling off, breathing heavily.

He looks up, catching Lestat’s gaze, the fathomless black that bores into him, wants to devour him.

And he demands, his voice rough, and used: “Feed me.”

Lestat jerks with a curse, and Louis falls forward, pulling him in, just as the first spasm hits, as Lestat cries out.

Blood and come, filling Louis’ mouth.

Bliss, on his tongue.

Lestat’s all-encompassing love, in his mind.

He swallows, greedily, taking it all, feeling the heat run down his throat, the love cradling him, the sensation unlike any other feeding. No, this is more base, even more primal and yet beyond, serene, the hungers fusing, never to be fully sated.

He realizes it, suddenly, and with a post-orgasmic clarity that is uncomfortable, and sobering.

He will never have enough of it.

He pulls off, swallowing compulsively, licking his lips, his teeth, trying to find more of the taste, more of the glimpse. More of the love.

The thighs under his hands are shaking, just a bit, and it makes him grin, through a tear that wants to fall. Something must have transmitted, because Lestat pulls him up, slowly, by his hands, running his fingers up Louis’ arms when they are face to face, until he can cradle Louis’ head, softly, gently, thumbs stroking along Louis’ jaw.

Lestat’s eyes are huge, still in post-orgastic bliss, but seeing… too much.

Louis stops him from saying anything, with a kiss.

It is a short kiss, just lips, and the hint of tongue, and the hint of taste, and then Louis breaks it again, with a sniff, and a smile he forces on his lips, though he does not feel like it. “Finish your shower.” He steps back, waving at the towels in a corner, the loss of skin feeling like ripping it off. “I’ll towel dry, I need to...” … hunt. He sniffs.

He doesn’t wait, surprised at himself at just how unmoored he feels, drying himself off methodically, with his back turned.

After a moment there is the faintest movement behind him, and then the sound of the water falling down changes, and he chances a look up, at Lestat, through the mirror.

Water on skin, catching on raised parts, hiding others.

Steam rises, shifts the view into something mythical, something revealed, with a purpose.

Louis swallows. He has watched Lestat, a thousand times. Thousands and thousands of nights. And showers. Baths. Has traced that skin with his tongue, more often than he can remember.

Usually Lestat had been well-fed.

He isn’t now.

The skin seems a bit translucent, a bit thin, not filled as much with the blood of victims.

Still smooth, still a bit reddish and gleaming. But there is a quality to it that Louis finds hard to pin down, an otherness that he had never really noticed back then.

And suddenly Louis sees, and it makes him shake, his fingers trembling, breath short, his hands gripping the towel, in a death grip.

Lestat has… scars.

A lot of them. Some of them he knows, very well. The facial scars are most prominent, most known, most often observed. A small scar next to his lips, traces of another between his brows.

But there are others, too.

Others that are usually not so clearly visible.

Others that Louis… never really noticed.

Bite marks of what seems to have been a dog, maybe, on his thigh. And abdomen, to the side.

A series of stripes only visible when the water cascades down over his back, faint, but there. Louis knows what creates stripes like these, has even created these on Armand’s request, a few times.

But not like this, not to leave scars. Not as punishment. Well, not really. It had been part of their dynamic, part of the … kink.

He’s very sure the scars on Lestat’s back have not been part of any kink, or catharsis.

Bile rises, bitter on his tongue.

He swallows, looking away, only to catch the hands that are held up into the spray, his eyes falling to the wrists. There are very faint rings on them, over the wrist bones , only visible when he lifts them, into the spray, the light hitting, just right.

Traces of a life lived and suffered through, before.

Traces of abuse, and pain.

There are a million questions, on Louis’ tongue.

A million emotions, whirling through him, too fast to pin down, too violent to speak out loud.

Lestat turns, holding his face up into the spray, offering Louis the gaze of his stomach… and throat, stretching pale skin.

A vision of the gaping wound, bleeding profusely, sudden, and savage, in front of Louis’ inner eye. He gasps, averting his gaze, his knees buckling.

He can hear the sound it had made, this gurgling, hissing sound that the air had made when the trachea had been cut. The arc the first spray of blood had made up in the air had been almost beautiful. The smell of it had been scratching on the walls of Louis’ sanity.

He sinks to his knees, the towel in his lap, forgotten.

That night returns, in stark focus, full and high definition, his mind providing the sounds and emotions, and he gasps, falling forward, one hand coming up to catch himself, his fingers pressing into the small shower mat.

Echoes of the dull thud of Lestat’s body, hitting the floor.

Echoes of his own knees, then, doing the same.

Just over there.

It had been just over there.

He could turn his head, and…

“Louis?”

Louis gasps, and then pushes himself up, looking up at Lestat, who is in front of him, on his haunches, dripping still.

The water has been shut off, obviously, and Lestat is staring at him, clearly worried.

Louis lifts the hand that still holds the towel, makes himself drop it, with an effort.

He clears his throat, the words feeling… lame. “It’s… okay.” He blinks, very slowly. “Just… history.”

Lestat’s face softens, and darkens, just a bit.

His voice carries something Louis cannot place. “It haunts us.” His eyes flicker away, for a moment. “She haunts us.”

And just like that, Louis feels like crying again, desperate and distraught, but at the same time he is angry, and hurting.

And hungry.

He is hungry.

He really needs to feed before he can deal with another round of this.

He reaches up, to wipe at his eyes, nodding slowly, before pushing up, ignoring Lestat’s hand, that wants to reach for him, glides down over his hip and then vanishes.

Louis clears his throat, looking into the mirror for a moment, glad his hair is more or less still in shape, a sudden need to get out gripping him, making him anxious.

Maybe coming here was not the best idea after all.

He inhales, deeply, and then turns his gaze, to look at Lestat, who has also stood up, hovering silently behind him, dripping water onto the floor.

Louis pastes a smile on, reaching for the other towel to pass it to Lestat. “You’re making a puddle.”

Lestat stares at him, for a moment too long, before taking the towel, wrapping it around his shoulders… still dripping to the floor.

Louis sighs, soundlessly, and then works his jaw, his eyes everywhere but on Lestat’s body, the small space they’re in seemingly not providing enough air to breathe.

He turns on his heel, hurrying out, not knowing where the sudden panic is coming from. His stomach grumbles, the hunger twisting, and he grimaces, fumbling with his clothes in the bedroom, cursing when they get stuck on pulling them on.

There is a whisper of air, and Louis knows Lestat is there, watching him.

He grimaces, not knowing why, but he needs to get out, needs to…

He turns, pulling the shirt over his head, making himself face Lestat, who is still wet, still dripping, still only standing there with the towel around his shoulders, watching Louis.

Louis wants to scream at him.

He swallows, reaching out slowly to put his hand over Lestat’s heart instead, feeling the steady thump for a long moment, before he inhales.

He forces himself to make his voice steady, calm. “I need to hunt.” His eyes come up, to find Lestat’s, who is staring at him, with an expression he cannot place. “Do you also want to … eat?” He swallows. There is an almost imperceptible shake of Lestat’s head, and Louis nods slowly, tapping his forefinger against the damp skin for a moment, pressing his lips together.

He rolls his head, hearing the small pops. “Fine.” He lifts his eyebrows. “But I want you to stay here.” He lowers his head, just a bit, to look up, making direct eye contact, in what he hopes is an intense and meaningful way. “Sleep. Sleep and…” He licks his lips, shaking his head once. “Sleep and get well again, Lestat.” He exhales. “I’ll be back.”

There is a frown on Lestat’s face.

His voice sounds dull, with a weird petulant undertone. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

Louis closes his eyes, nods, and then reopens them. “I know.” He taps his finger again, over Lestat’s heart. He emphasizes, heavily. “But you must.” I have to know you’re safe and will stay here. “I will be back soon.”

Something seems to break in Lestat’s gaze. “Tu promets?”

Louis exhales, and then steps in, to pull Lestat into a quick embrace, ignoring the still clinging water droplets, and then lifts his head to press a kiss to Lestat’s eyes. “I do.”

He steps back, with a sniff, letting his hands drift down Lestat’s arms and taking his left hand, hesitating for a long moment when he sees the blank finger.

The words taste like ash. “I never noticed… you don’t wear them.” A flash of pain, through his guts, and a memory of seeing Lestat, in Dubai, in a vision, wearing them. “The rings. You… “

Lestat lowers his head, staring down at his own fingers for long seconds.

When he answers he seems to drag the words from deep within an abyss, scratching and clawing to the surface. “He took them.”

Louis presses his tongue to his teeth for a long moment, suddenly not needing to ask ‘who’. “Ah.” He nods to himself. “Anyways, I need to go now, it is almost 3am. I… will be back. Soon. You go to sleep.” He looks up, to catch Lestat’s gaze again. “Promise me to go to sleep and stay here.”

He watches as Lestat’s brows come together, twist the scar between them.

The words are a breath, with a hiccup to it. “If you really want me to.”

Louis inhales, nods, and then steps back. “I really do.” He turns, to find his jacket in a corner of the room, stepping over to pull it on. “And dress yourself, alright?” He shoots Lestat a small smile that is not echoed, not quite looking at him standing there, in front of their bed that is not their bed.

And yet.

He clears his throat. “Be back soon.”

He hurries out, the steps down the stairway echoing the beats of his drumming heart, pushing it up into his throat, choking him.

The front door falls into the lock, with the softest click, echoing, like a shot, aimed to kill.

******

The blood is heavenly, prickling, mixed with alcohol and elation, the elderly woman having had the time of her life at the party she was just at, walking home through the still busy streets, so very delighted when this beautiful young man had smiled at her, had started talking to her.

She accepts the swoon, easily, letting Louis see, a life lived, highs and lows, pleasure and pain, and the blood, the blood. Gratefulness is there, somewhere, in the blood. Awareness that this is a gentle death.

The kills are not usually like this, and he accepts it as the gift it is, wanting to weep, so very grateful in turn for the given absolution.

Death is reaching for her, all too soon, but Louis slows down, savors, makes her soar, the moment the heart stops a moment of crystal, orgasmic clarity, the sharpest of drugs and gifts, distilled into a single moment. Brilliance, made darkest light, and then she is gone, and the blood is not flowing anymore, and he suckles a bit on the wounds still, tasting the perfumed flesh, making the remaining droplets seem bitter.

The world returns with sounds and smells, and people walking by the dark corner they are in, laughing.

Louis holds the body in his arms for a while longer, watching the way death settles in, the way his vampire senses can see the decay start already.

She will be a beautiful corpse, peaceful and serene.

He takes her to Lafayette, jumping over walls and rushing over streets.

He finds a beautiful spot between two high graves, a smaller one with freshly placed flowers, and a stone angel, watching over her.

He reaches for her name, but cannot find it, reaching out to stroke her cheek for a moment before he nips his finger to heal the wounds, watching them disappear, slowly, the flesh only knitting back together reluctantly, only driven by the vampiric cells mutation.

Oh, how Lestat had scolded him, at the beginning, when he had forgotten, right after the swoon, still high on the blood.

He had hated it, then, because it destroyed the high with the necessary practicality. Had soured the kill even more than the killing itself had done, at least at first.

His blood right after turning had been barely able to heal the wounds, only minutes after a kill.

His blood now is a lot more powerful, a lot more potent.

He can easily indulge in the swoon now, without the need for…. practicality.

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth, looking her over once more, reaching out to arrange her limbs, to make her seem sleeping, calmly, under the clear sky and the moon, sending its cold light, to highlight the shadows of her face.

He strokes her fingers, his voice soft. “A lot has changed.” He inhales deeply, feeling for that wobbly feeling, that unsteady feeling, for the bond, between them. Smiles, when he feels it, blinking up at the moon. “And more will change still.”

He steps back, leaving her there for her final rest, which he knows will be disturbed by authorities soon enough. “Goodbye, lovely.”

******

Lestat … is not there.

Louis stares at the bed, their temporary bed, his mind a stupor, empty, a flatline, no thoughts emerging.

And then he curses, and rushes through their house, searching, the closet, her room, the dining room, the kitchen, the parlor, even the stupid little cellar that Lestat had dug out once, for blood wine bottles, and that had been flooded of course at some point and obviously abandoned, coming to rest gasping and almost panicking on the last step in front of their front door, staring at it.

Logically, he knows he has searched every room.

And he knows Lestat is not in them.

But… the feeling…

Louis presses his hands over his eyes, the palms pressing against his cheek bones.

The feeling, this feeling in his gut… it’s still here.

Centered here.

Right here.

Underneath his…

Realization drops, with the weight of white stones, being poured out over Louis. With the weight of the laughter and hands that held him as the weight made it impossible to move.

His ankles pulse, a sudden flare of pain that makes him double over, gasp.

He stumbles down the last step, drags himself to turn towards the back yard with a hand on the wall.

Reality is a pulse, thumping at the edges of Louis’ vision, bled in, and fraying.

He fumbles with the doorknob of the back door, almost falls when it finally gives.

His knees hit the ground on the soft grass in front of the spot where the fountain once stood.

Their broken fountain.

The broken fountain that they never repaired, never found the energy for. The will.

In front of the soft mound of earth that has been obviously broken up, and broken into.

Louis sobs, reaching out to place a shaking hand onto the earth, reaching, for something, anything.

He cannot even say what.

Deep down, there is a thump… and his heart stumbles, in sync.

And Louis screams.

———————- END of part ONE ——-————-

Chapter Text

“I’m back in Dubai.”

“Alright.”

Louis licks his lips, lifting his eyebrows, working his jaw for a long moment before he continues. “I… could not stay there. I mean any longer. Two months of waiting is enough. I… debated digging down, but…” Louis closes his eyes, licking his lips. “At least the townhouse is furnished again, in a basic way, though it’s still subject to renovations.” In case he wakes up.

“Mhhh.” A small pause. “Do you think it’s wise to leave him there?”

Louis scoffs, his voice grating, and bitter on his tongue. “Well, it’s not as if he is forcibly entombed, like I was?”

Daniel’s voice is careful. “Right.” An inhale, across the line. “I meant to ask - is that something vampires do? I mean, dig into the earth to do… what?”

Louis reopens his eyes, staring up at the granite ceiling. “I do not know.”

He can hear Daniel quirk an eyebrow. “You could ask Seth.”

Louis licks his lips again, voice gruff. “I could.”

Daniel exhales, seeming to lean back in his chair. His voice carries that tone that really gets onto Louis’ nerves, makes his teeth pulse. “You really don’t like to ask questions, do you Louis. I wonder why that is. And, don’t give me that crap about fearing the answer. Like, Lestat had tricks, Lestat doesn’t like talking about the past, Lestat does not want to go to Paris…” A click of tongue. “I think it’s more that you trust Lestat, and his reasoning, maybe even too much.”

Louis grimaces, curbing the impulse to lash out, put Daniel into his place.

His own words come back to him, spoken so long ago, by a hallucination of Lestat. ‘I’m still the only one you trust.’

He clears his throat, swallowing the anger down. “Maybe.” He sniffs. “Be that as it may, it is what it is now.” He blinks up, his voice shaking. “I just cannot help feeling that it was my fault, that he did actually did that because I insisted he go to sleep, and now…”

Daniel’s voice carries vague amusement. “Sleeping includes waking up again, Louis. I doubt this is eternal sleep.”

Louis swallows thickly, working his jaw. “Right.” But it’s been months already.

Daniel hums. “Go and ask some fucking questions, Louis. And then come and answer mine.” The shortest pause. “And the Talamasca’s.”

Louis frowns, looking down at his fingernails. “What if he wakes…”

Daniel sighs, emphasizing heavily. “When he wakes we will know it immediately I bet. Just hope it will be in my lifetime. And I bet he will be showing up at your doorstep or someone at the Talamasca will give us a ring. You said you made up after all?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “In a way.” He weighs his head. “A bit.” He cackles. “As much as we could with him still out of his mind.”

“See?” Daniel is typing something into his computer. “Progress. I bet he’ll come to you.” A soft snort. “Or write another song.”

Louis grimaces, reaching up with his free hand to rub his eyes. “I don’t trust the Talamasca. They triggered him, on purpose.” And they’re probably listening in right now I bet.

Daniel sighs. “And you shouldn’t trust them either. They sat on knowledge, for decades. Watching, until it was convenient for them to interfere. And they want more knowledge now.” The shortest pause. “So it’s actually sensible you don’t trust them.” Daniel’s voice takes on a slight sing-song note. “But we’ve been over that. And that you can use them, too.”

Louis snorts darkly. “Yeah.” He rolls his head, shoots a look at the big crack in the wall left of him. The rest of the apartment has been cleaned up, everything is in its place, the only trace of what happened the broken wall, where he threw Armand against it.

He inhales. “You know, it’s funny, but the only one I could possibly get proper answers from is the same one who lied to me all this time, so…” He clicks his tongue. “Everyone else was not there, then.” He quirks an eyebrow, amending. “Or is dead now.” He snorts. “Though Lestat reacted very weirdly when I mentioned that I knew about Marius, as mentioned.”

Daniel’s voice carries definite interest. “Marius de Romanus. Another one I’d love to meet.”

Louis shakes his head, sinking down onto the black couch. “Given what Armand told me…”

Daniel hums, in a distinctive, noncommittal way, and then changes the subject. “So. I was thinking…” He pauses, the keyboard clicking. “You had Lestat’s card still. And you obviously have Claudia’s diaries.” There is a pause, and Louis imagines Daniel lifting his head, shifting focus. “What else you got, Louis?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, staring at the coffee table for a long moment before he clicks his tongue, working his jaw before he answers. “That is a difficult question, Daniel.”

“Yeah? Why?” Daniel seems to have pressed the phone back between shoulder and jaw, the tone a bit muffled and off. “Didn’t you take it with you through the decades?” There is a slurping sound, and then a low curse, as Daniel seems to burn his tongue on some hot coffee.

Louis leans back, with a sigh, rolling his neck a bit. “I did… but then again…” He breaks off, working his jaw.

“Yes?” Daniel’s voice seems more direct now once more, carrying interest. “Forgot where you left it?”

Louis cackles, his lips twitching in an aborted snarl, closing his eyes in annoyance for a moment. “No, it’s… well. We took some things with us, of course. I mean when we left New Orleans. Some we left there to be stored, long-term. Some of the luggage we took with us was stolen… some we left behind. Some of it the Talamasca seems to have.”

Daniel exhales, a pen scratching on paper. “Right, I remember you saying you came to Romania with a backpack only.”

Louis hums, extending his free left arm on the back of the sofa. “We took the ship we had sponsored for Tom Anderson, as you know.”

Daniel types something on his computer. “The one carrying coffins to France. Convenient.”

Louis smiles, a bit sardonically. “Yes, it was. Not very comfortable, but at least the crew did not come looking too much.” He frowns. “I think they were spooked by the concept of us choosing to stay down there voluntarily.”

“You didn’t go blind passenger?”

Louis shakes his head, though Daniel can’t see it. “No, we… went on board, and kept to ourselves.” He swallows, and then exhales. “And ate some of the crew.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Well, Claudia did.”

“Enough rats to feed the hungry?”

Louis narrows his eyes, and then rolls his shoulders a bit. “Enough rats to keep me fed enough, yes.” His eyes flicker around the room, gliding over the granite walls. “It’s all a blur now. Dark skies, dark waters. Dark harbor.” He swallows. “We left the ship in Nantes. I… wanted to go to Paris. She did not.”

More typing. “You gave me a whole day of how you evaded the mediterranean war theater.”

Louis nods. “I remember.” He clears his throat. “We could not travel through France as we had initially wanted, or hoped. So we had to leave some of the luggage we had taken with us behind. We… stowed it away in a small bunker, somewhere outside Nantes.”

“Is it still there?” Daniel hums, and Louis can see him narrow his eyes before his inner eye. “What did you leave there and what did you take with you from there?”

Louis exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I… had taken some of my favorite books with me from New Orleans. I… left them there, in that bunker.” He swallows, thickly. “I only took the Book of Hours with me, and a little box with… well. Little things. She…” He snorts, a bit bitterly. “You cannot imagine her disdain.”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “Oh, I can. Where did you go from there?”

Louis works his jaw, rolling his neck. “We took the train towards Lyon. We wanted to go towards Marseille from there.”

“But?”

Louis refrains from rolling his eyes. “But we took the train to Strasbourg by accident instead.” He shakes his head, eyes staring unseeing, the memory of the dark countryside passing by the open door in the freight train replaying in front of his inner eye. “You know how the Nazis were so obsessed with artifacts?”

Daniel catches on immediately. “Claudia wanted to know if there was something useful they collected?”

Louis blinks, very slowly. “We took wide detours, slept in the earth, I told you. But…” He clicks his tongue. “We did not go towards the Mediterranean Sea immediately.”

Daniel hums. “Oh, I bet this is good.”

Louis presses his lips together for a long moment, vaguely ticked off. “As you can probably imagine we had to be careful. It was… an ugly time. We… knew where those trains were going. We could hear and smell them. We knew what the smoke was, whenever we were close enough.” He hesitates for a long moment. “We knew what they burned.”

Daniel is silent for a long moment, and then prods, none too gently. “The same things you burned in the incinerator.”

Louis swallows thickly. “Yes.” He closes his eyes, breathes in.

Daniel inhales as well, papers rustling in the background. “You said this only, and I quote, ‘calcified her determination to find others she could better relate to’. Did it also calcify her determination to find more resources?”

Louis laughs, a dry sound, without any humor. “In a way. She argued that Berlin was like the empty lion’s den, and that we would be almost safe there.” He clicks his tongue. “I was glad we stayed on the outskirts for the most part. Only went into the city itself for a few hours.” He bites his lips. “Ravaged though the museums, the storehouses, the military depots…” He exhales, shudderingly, the regret surprisingly sharp still. “And while we were on one of those… runs, someone went through most of our possessions.” He snorts. “And they stole my Book of Hours.”

Daniel hums. “Only that book?”

Louis closes his eyes. “Yes. I had the box with … well. I had the other box always with me.”

Daniel’s tone carries an undertone that Louis cannot place. “Interesting.”

Louis presses his lips together, his tone hard. “Yes.”

Daniel clears his throat. “Did it ever show up again?”

Louis licks over his front teeth, reopening his eyes. “Not yet.”

There is something akin to glee in Daniel’s voice. “You are actively searching for it.” Louis doesn’t answer, and so Daniel continues after a moment, with a bit of a sigh. “What did you drag around in that box? And, I’m guessing that it wasn’t the same box you pulled the card from more or less half a year ago?”

Louis snorts, shaking his head once. “No. I had…” He presses his lips together, remembering Claudia’s expression when she had seen him put the tin box into his breast pocket. “I had purchased a water-tight tin box. I had… put the card in, a letter… a…” He trails off, his throat closed off suddenly, and his chest constricting. Sharp memory of the scissors, and their glint in the light. He snarls, and then forces himself to continue, the words feeling as if dragged across barb wire. “I had cut off a strand of his hair. There was blood on it. Some. At the tip of it.” He swallows, his throat clicking. “A golden strand of hair, and the blood, his blood.” He inhales, shudderingly. “A reminder of what was and could have been, always.”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “A reminder of what you could never have again.”

Louis swallows again, his voice thick. “Worse.” He lifts his eyebrows, forcing himself to say the words, admit it to himself. “A reminder of what I could have… if only I returned.”

Daniel’s voice is quiet, but nonetheless probing. “But you couldn’t do that? Or wanted to do that? Or…”

Louis works his jaw. “Oh, I wanted to. She hated that, with a passion.” He sniffs. “You saw her comments in the diaries. She thought me weak, and lacking.” He scoffs. “Severely.”

Daniel takes another sip of what Louis assumes is coffee, smacking his lips after. “You think Lestat would have welcomed you if you’d went back?”

Louis grimaces, and then gets up, walking up to the windows. “There is no way to tell. I… I was afraid he would come after me and kill me.” He swallows. “At least at first.” He reaches up, to draw a hand over his face, with a sigh. “But you know that, you know about my visions. I invited them. In time… in time they became more.”

“Mhhh.” Daniel types something. “And then, after the theft, what did you do?”

Louis lifts his eyebrows. “I wanted to find the thieves. But it was impossible. No-one talked, no-one even wanted to think.” He pulls a face, remembering. “So much fear in the air, and in the blood, and in everyone’s minds. Survival was the only thing that mattered.” He inhales, deeply. “I cut my losses and we went south.”

Daniel’s voice carries interest. “You ate human then?”

Louis rolls his eyes, walking along the windows. “There were rats everywhere, but… well. We encountered so many soldiers.”

Daniel’s voice is vaguely sardonic now. “And they were all the enemy anyways, right?”

Louis narrows his eyes, his tone reflecting the anger he feels. “Would you prefer we had eaten the population instead?”

Daniel cackles. “No, but you go years without eating properly in New Orleans, and then immediately drop the act when you’re on travels.”

Louis’ jaw twitches. “It wasn’t an act.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Daniel’s voice is beyond dry.

There is a pause.

Louis can hear the little smirk, and it annoys him.

When Daniel continues, it is a more gentle tone, though he does not change the subject. “Why did you feel like you had to stop eating properly, Louis? And don’t give me the crap about killing or even abusing people… You sit in that Dubai penthouse, the whole state built on black gold and slave labor, you’re an arts dealer, betting on the artist killing themselves to raise the price, and to be frank, you have always profited off the vulnerable, even while mortal, and even if that may have been somewhat facilitated through the circumstances. But… You’re a vampire, through and through, so why not eat like one?”

Louis swallows, his teeth clenched when he bites back, quoting. “A sliver of coldness in me?”

Daniel cackles, the chair he seems to sit on squeaking as he sits back on it. “Oh, that’s a good one. Let me ask you, Louis, were you pleased when Lestat fell for you when you pulled a knife on your brother?”

Louis clenches his teeth, hard, and then says, very deliberately, and precisely: “Fuck you.”

Daniel’s voice is gratingly cheerful, carrying vicious sarcasm. “No thank you, not now. Maybe later. But really Louis, why did you stop killing? Why did you not eat properly back then?”

Louis closes his eyes, counts to ten.

He could hang up, simply end the call, even vanish - but something in him rebels against the very notion, needing this connection, this witness… and he suspects it is the same for Daniel.

He swallows, forcing himself to answer calmly. “Control.” He licks his lips. “I needed the control.” He exhales. “I wanted control.”

Daniel’s voice is matter-of-fact. “Control is power.”

Louis blinks, slowly, admitting. “It is.”

The question comes, expected, dreaded, welcomed. “Over?”

Louis nods to himself, staring unseeing out into the night sky over the glittering metropolis.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, hesitating for a long moment, before answering. “I told you, how the ground always felt liquid, didn’t I.” He pauses, but doesn’t really wait for an answer, continuing after a beat. “Lestat… is a force of nature.” He snorts, smiling for a split-second. “Claudia called it a storm. Our relationship I mean.” He quirks an eyebrow. “And it was. I told you that he enjoyed it if I fought back… you commented on that.”

Daniel takes another sip of coffee. “I remember.”

Louis pulls his brows together, shaking his head once. “An overwhelming presence, an overwhelming love. He wanted everything of me. I…” He closes his eyes for a long moment, a tear dropping when he reopens them. “Totally apart from all the worldly problems… and there were, but totally apart from that there was this rising fear that I would lose myself in him. That I would lose who I was.”

Daniel hums. “Do you still fear that?”

Louis lifts his eyebrows, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. “I do not know. Who am I? Recently discovered-to-have-been-brainwashed rebound…” He snorts, shooting a look at the crack in the wall from the corner of his eyes. “I just know that I…” He trails off, swallowing compulsively.

Daniel prompts, quite gently. “Yes?”

Louis exhales, in a rush. “I just know that when I’m with him that I’m more myself than I have been, for the last decades.” He cackles, without any humor. “And isn’t that fucked up.”

“Mhhh.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “That all you want to say to this?”

Daniel sighs. “Yes, and no. I mean, you’re old enough to know you should find yourself before you enter another relationship again, right? Didn’t you say you said you’re companion enough for yourself now?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, I said that.” He inhales. “And I meant it, too.”

“Good.” Daniel’s voice carries humor. “Then be that, too.”

Louis purses his lips, nodding to himself. “Right.”

Daniel takes another sip. “You know, when Alice was in a pinch, she always revamped our home, pun intended.”

Louis snorts, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Call the interior designer and change my surroundings?”

“If you will.” The sound of porcelain, clinking. “If you want to stay there, that is.”

Louis hesitates and then nods, slowly, reaching for his feelings. “I think so.” For now. “At least until…” He trails off, knowing Daniel knows what he wants to say. Until Lestat wakes up. Then…

“Alright.” Daniel shuffles some papers. “But back to the stuff you took from New Orleans.”

Louis snorts, shaking his head once. “You’re in good form tonight.”

Daniel hums. “The stuff Dr. Bhansali is shooting into my veins does wonders…” A beat. “So your stuff - you said you put it into storage.”

Louis nods, and then shrugs. “Yes. In New Orleans. But it is here now.” He hesitates. “What the Talamasca left I mean, apparently. And the books in France… are lost to history, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Daniel’s tone perks up. “Another room I haven’t seen? And one you haven’t checked?”

Louis exhales. “Another basement you haven’t seen. And no, I haven’t checked in a long time.”

There is the slightest pause on Daniel’s end. “Should I fly back over?”

Louis snorts, drily, slowly wandering into the library, stopping in the doorframe, his mind not following what his eyes see. “I…” He pauses, the jolt as he realizes what is missing like a cold hand down his spine.

The exclamation is heartfelt. “Son of a bitch.”

Daniel’s answer is prompt and deadpan. “What did I do now?”

Louis exhales, rolls his shoulders, and then shakes his head, before addressing Daniel again. “Not… you.” He clicks his tongue. “I just realized he has been by and took his tree with him.”

“His tree.” Daniel’s voice seems to fluctuate between humor and disbelief. “Anything else?”

Louis lifts his head, looks up at the library, where some of the shelves are empty. “Definitely.” He presses his lips together, hesitating for a long moment, before addressing Daniel again. “I need to check. I’ll call you back.”

He ends the call before Daniel can answer, pushing the phone into his front pocket.

The room has been cleaned up, just like the living room, but he had avoided coming in here when he came back, something about the room riling him up even now.

All these book shelves, taunting, just out of reach. He could jump, or get a ladder, but it was a statement, always, a little salt into the wound, with every breath.

And the tree… symbol of Armand’s home, cut to plant and grow and bring to Louis, even when Armand had set in motion the… treachery. Specifically when he had set the treachery into motion.

Gone now, the place it had stood empty, the white stones that echo the ones in his ankles disturbed in places.

It should feel freeing, but instead it feels like another violation, an action without consent.

Granted, he had not been here, but what were six months to them?

Louis pulls a face, shooting another look up at the shelves, wondering what Armand might have taken. A lot of the material on the “Théâtre des Vampires” seems to be gone, along with a few first editions that were gifts over the years.

Louis smiles, viciously, the word a breath. “Petty, are we.” He turns, with another sidelong glance at the room, and then walks out, purposefully, towards the bedroom.

That, too, feels different now, barren and claustrophobic, although nothing seems to be missing on the first glance. On the second…

One of the whips is gone, his favorite.

Louis walks over to one of the hidden closets, pushing the door aside. Armand’s clothes are gone, too, and his favorite rings.

A curious thing, the rings with Armand. He had not worn them much in Dubai, but he had held onto them, very carefully. Louis had not been interested in the history behind them, but now he wonders, remembering that Lestat, too, had not had his. And had said Armand had taken them.

Louis stares at the empty jewelry drawer, with a frown, trying to remember.

He is not sure he ever really looked in here.

Would he have been able to find Lestat’s rings here? Their… rings?

He shoves the drawer back in, with a curse, turning on his heel.

The walls of the apartment seem to move in, tighten, his heart thunders, and he swallows, closing his eyes and breathing until the heartbeats slow down again, gentle.

He suddenly wonders who is here, now, tending to the apartment. He hasn’t checked. It’s not Rashid, of that he is quite certain, since the vampire who had so willingly served them left before Daniel destroyed Armand’s carefully built card house of lies.

Currently, there is no-one in the apartment.

No humans. No vampires. No-one besides Louis.

He has the sudden impulse to turn the music up, real loud.

Instead, he turns towards the front door that is actually an elevator, with private access. He steps in, stares at the panel with the numpad and the lock for a long moment, and then curses quietly under his breath, stepping out again, rummaging through the drawers of a cabinet in the hallway for the key, remembering something about a conversation he once had with Armand, about needing to know where to look, at least, despite Armand being the one to steer everything in the apartment from his little iPad.

He half expects the keys to be gone, but they’re in the second drawer from the top, next to the little booklet with numbers for emergencies. He stares at that, with a frown, shoving it into his back pocket after a moment of consideration, his fingers clenching around the keys, only relaxing when the key fits and turns, too, the numpad lighting up obediently.

He punches the number in, remembering Armand doing it on every other trip they took down, remembering watching him enter the 6-digit number, the soft sounds that accompany it. How often had they been down, over the years? Louis frowns, trying to remember, but the instances blur, meld, the decades becoming a single frame before his inner eye.

The vampire had been bored, alright.

Bored and pacified.

The muscle in his jaw jumps.

The elevator starts descending, almost soundlessly, swishing down the floors with satisfying velocity. He is glad it is the middle of the night here, the tower emptied out and the few other inhabitants mostly asleep, the risk of meeting someone down in the little hallway that leads from the elevator to the private basement area almost certainly empty as well.

A small ping, coinciding with the slowing to a stop, and then the doors glide open, revealing the empty hallway, the ceiling lights flaring up as he steps outside.

Memories of their almost silent footsteps, down this very hallway, in sync.

Louis reaches up, to rub his forehead.

He cannot quite remember why they came down here, again and again, over the years. In fact, he cannot quite remember what it is that drove him to go down here now, to check.

His mind seems to whisper to him, but he cannot understand the words, cannot quite discern the meaning.

He enters the 8-digit number to the big double-doors as if in a trance, watching his own fingers move.

The click as the doors open is loud, almost thundering in his mind.

He hesitates, and then reaches for the handle, pulling it open with a bit of an effort, even for him. They’re heavy, heavy steel doors, probably filled with lead, judging by the weight.

Silence greets him, and darkness.

There are no lights to flare up for this part, he knows that. Armand… Armand had talked about making it harder for mortals, more as a joke given this ages capabilities with artigicial lights as Louis believes now. He walks down the dark hallway now, unerringly heading towards the back room, behind the door that is the third on the left.

His storage room. His… memories.

Behind another door, another electronic lock.

Which lights up to his touch, obediently opening under his fingertips.

The door swings open, silently.

The light here is soft, not flickering on, no, it seems to come alive, gently, slowly, lighter and lighter, illuminating the room stuffed with boxes, and shelves.

It’s a bit messy, and for a flash Louis half expects a raccoon to show up, go through the boxes for food. He snorts softly, remembering, the memory almost fond now.

He’d eaten that raccoon back then, hadn’t he.

He sighs, letting that memory go, along with the memory of the anger and disappointment that had been ever present back then. ‘Locked together in hatred’. He hears it in his mind, in her voice. Later. She’d been right, though it had not been hatred, not really. But they had been locked together.

The boxes to the left are full of books, he knows that. His old library, the one at Rue Royale. He should probably check if the Talamasca has picked them apart, something he never did before, but he feels strangely reluctant to do so now, not wanting to… touch the sanctity of the memory.

Next to it are bits and pieces of the things he took from his family home back then, when Grace left. Silverware, porcelain… paintings. He steps over, pulls off the cloth off the staple of frames leaning against the wall, the delicately carved frames with the sheer lacquer gleaming in the gentle light. A few ancestors, a few studies… and Paul.

He hesitates, and then pulls the frame out, holding it with both hands to look at it.

A good work, classic, and managing to catch the resemblance, the essence, something Louis knows is not necessarily a given, especially for portraits made after the passing of the person depicted.

Paul.

He smiles, a small, painful smile, that feels nonetheless warm, real.

Paul looks at him, with that gaze of his, the one that seems to be able to look right into Louis’ soul, understanding and not, in equal measure. Judging and supporting, a weight and a crutch.

Louis sniffs, his sight turning red, for just a second as a tear drops, vanishing on his cheek.

The words are soft, but heartfelt, spoken out loud to make them real: “I miss you, little brother.”

The pain in his chest is beautiful, and vivid, and he breathes through it, lets it run its course, until it ebbs away again, pulsing through his fingertips and into the portrait, infusing the image of Paul with meaning.

He nods, turning to put it aside and propped up against the wall, next to the door.

If I really stay here… He doesn’t finish the thought, turning back to the room again, the presence of the portrait in his back a source of warmth, of belonging, of … strength.

It’s weird to feel strength again, this strength.

Armand had offered him blood over the years, increasing his vampiric strength, bit by bit, teaching him how to use it, how to use the fire gift.

And in turn, he had shaped Louis into a husk of himself, and echo, edited to fit Armand’s needs. This, this is different. It’s a change that happens deep in the pit of Louis’ stomach, deep within his soul. A strength born out of history, and awareness, and stubbornness, and the realization of his own mistakes, and behavior patterns. And of his wishes.

Half a year ago, he had stood on the balcony high above, and he claimed the vampire was bored.

He does not feel bored now.

No, on the contrary. Set back a bit, yes, annoyed and vaguely desperate at Lestat digging into the very earth of their old home, but bored? No. He shakes his head to himself, inhaling deeply.

So much change, in so little time.

He reaches out, to a cabinet to the side, pulling out a drawer.

Boxes of photos in this one, all the photos he made over the years in Paris, all hung up, evaluated… and then put away, in frustration.

He smiles suddenly, remembering his visions of Lestat, hyping him up. Looking so beautifully in the suit he liked him best in, the hair long and in waves, not frilly and a bit unruly, as it usually was, in New Orleans. When had he seen Lestat like that? For what occasion? Probably at the Azalea.

No matter.

He hesitates before he pulls out the next drawer, knowing what it contains.

Pictures of her in a box, photos, snapshots of her life. Of their lives.

Another round of pain, rolling through him, practiced, making the stones in his ankles throb.

She had been so happy in the first months.

The first hunts, the elation of being with her own, accepted.

Cat and mouse, as he knows now.

The coven had so much fun with them.

He refuses to let his fingers shake as he pulls one shot out, a photo where Claudia is staring off into the distance, unaware or uncaring that he takes the photo. They had been out into the city after the hunt, had walked through the streets, down the Avenue des Champs Élysées, to the Place de la Concorde. Looking back at the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile had been like staring into history, knowing the arc had been built after Lestat had been turned, in this very city. Because of what Lestat must have experienced, and never talked about.

‘Paris? No.’

The words echo, in his mind, sharpened by regret.

He had been so tired then, in Eastern Europe. So tired of the chase, of the regret, of the void.

Desperate for light, desperate for connection.

Desperate for him.

He inhales, admitting it now, to himself.

They had followed the call to Paris because Lestat had been adamant not to go.

Half stubborn need for connection, even in spite, half desperate need for lighter things.

Paris, the city of lights.

Claudia had been forced to face the light there.

He squeezes his eyes shut, for a long moment, letting the flare of pain pass once more, breathing through it.

It’s practiced pain now, welcome pain, a connection.

Part of the absolute agony of Paris, and part of the incredible anger after had been the fact - was still the fact - that he had not been there. No, he had been dragged away, ostensibly to be saved.

And he had been, eventually, no thanks to Armand.

But he had not been there.

He had not seen.

But he had heard.

Not with his ears, no. No, he’d been too panicked, too much screaming, their laughter too loud while they entombed him.

But as the door had been shut, with a metallic bang, there had been a moment of utter terror, and silence.

And he had reached out, with his mind instead.

Sometimes, he wished he had not.

But he had.

Louis watches, as the world blurs red, as the drop falls onto her profile, slides off from the photograph he holds between limp fingers.

Madeleine had just fallen apart, to dust.

Claudia had turned, to the only one there who loved her.

He had been there, in her mind, as she had looked at Lestat.

He had heard the silent plea, loud and clear, and coming from a place of absolute agony, and from deep within, there, where she had hidden away the love for them, shielded by the hard shell she had erected around it, and which the focused sunlight now literally burned away.

Dad. Please help me.

Not ’Uncle Les’, no. Not ‘Lestat’.

No.

He inhales a shaky breath, his other hand coming up to wipe away the remaining smudge on the photo, forcing himself to smile, and then puts the photo away again, his fingers shaking this time, unable not to.

He knows the agony she was in.

It’s the least he could do, isn’t it.

He exhales, remembering Lestat, just a short while ago: ‘I thought it only fair.’

He cannot help but smile, just a bit.

I only thought it fair, too.

******

Going through the basement takes not as long as he anticipates, the big storage boxes in the other rooms obviously recently rearranged. Some of them are empty, some obviously repacked.

He tries not to be too annoyed, though it irks him that he does not know what is missing now, he does not quite remember what was packed here, once.

He only knows that it is gone now, the negative space giving him hints, but no real information.

Books are missing, old books. A few boxes with old clothes he vaguely remembers.

A smaller box with photos of the theater and the coven is missing, too.

One room he knows was filled with paintings is empty now, and glaringly so.

And then there’s a little surprise, and it stops his inventory efforts, immediately.

In the room right across of “his” basement Lestat’s music box is set up, right in the middle of the room, with a little, well used chair in front of it. There are candles on small shelves around the room, in various states of having been burnt down, and what seems to be a chest, in the far corner.

The whole room reeks of hours spent in silence.

Louis stares at the music box, hand still on the door handle, trying to wrap his mind around it.

He has this faint memory, of it being packed up, before they wanted to leave New Orleans.

Lestat had put it away, very carefully.

He knows who must have unpacked it, but to see it now, set up like this, obviously played before, and sat in front of…

Louis frowns, and then reaches up, to scratch his head.

He tries to remember what Lestat had said, back then, the night they had made love for the first time. The night of his first time experiencing the little drink.

So much of that night is a blur, his mortal brain trying to keep up with events, and frankly he was also quite drunk, too.

The music box had been played a few times over the years, but mostly discarded for the more advanced possibilities of the radio and the record player. Especially the record player, the gramophone, the possibility to change and choose the music a true addiction for them both.

And so there had never really been a conversation about the song that it played, or who Lestat had written it for, since every time its music had been played… had been a time of argument. Of reminiscing, on Lestat’s part.

And at some point, it had been put away, into a corner.

And then packed up.

But it must mean something to Armand, too, for him to… worship it, like that. Or meditate in front of it, maybe. Honor it, definitely.

Nicolas… a boy Lestat once knew.

That Louis remembers.

And he remembers the tale Armand told to Daniel, the story of his beginnings with Lestat.

He shoots a look at the music box again, wondering how the story he’s been told fits with the obvious emotion at display here. The longing is represented, yes. Maybe a lingering anger, too.

But Armand had always dismissed Lestat’s affection for ‘the boy’ in his narration, had always made it seem as if Lestat did not care, was only interested in Armand, and after the blood.

And Louis, deep down, knows that is not true.

And the music box itself being here, and even being in New Orleans back then also proves it untrue.

He exhales, closing his eyes for a moment, and then turns and walks out again, pulling the door shut behind him.

His stomach grumbles, and he nods to himself, shooting a look at his phone, surprised at how much time has passed already. It will be dawn soon, and he has spent the better part of the night going through boxes, and reminiscing about the past.

But at least I know now that Armand really did take his belongings with him.

There is a grim satisfaction in the thought, a vague relief of cutting the ties.

Of being the master of his own fate, for the first time in what feels like forever.

As the elevator opens with a soft ping he inhales, and then lifts his head just a bit higher.

With a smile.

******

The smile lasts until he enters the small but expensive kitchen that is situated in a back room of the penthouse, until he pulls open the refrigerator.

The empty refrigerator.

He stares into it, the usually readily available blood bags quite clearly gone.

There are no frozen ones either.

He closes his eyes, and then counts to ten, his stomach commenting on the state of things with a louder grumble. He nods to himself, and then pulls out the phone, punching in the number for ‘the farm’, listening to the ring tone with his other hand on the fridge door, staring into the cold light.

Usually, someone picks up after the third ring, latest.

He notices, after the ninth.

And it keeps on ringing.

He blinks, and then clicks his tongue, disconnecting after a long while, with a heartfelt curse:

“Well, fuck.”

Chapter Text

“Hello Daniel.”

Daniel pushes his glasses up his nose, lifting his head a bit to see something on the screen, then smiles at the camera. “Louis, good to actually see you.” His eyes flicker a bit, obviously taking in the room behind Louis. “I see you still have a broken wall.”

Louis smirks. “I am thinking about updating the design of the whole apartment. All this gray and black…” He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I’m done with that.”

Daniel smiles a bit. “Good idea.”  He reaches off to the side, pulls a pile of papers, holding them up to the camera. “And we need to go through these!”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve been busy.”

Daniel snorts. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have to run after my lover, did I. Hunt after him, if you so will.”

Something tickles, at the back of Louis’ mind, like an itch he cannot scratch.

He cannot quite name the feeling. “No.” He clears his throat. “I have some time tonight.” He hesitates. “Not the whole night, unfortunately. I need to go out and… get food.”

Daniel shoots him a look over the rim of his glasses. “Not in the mood for refrigerated stuff?”

Louis smiles, a bit pained. “The fridge is empty.”

Daniel blinks, once. “Order some?”

Louis cackles, under his breath, licking his lips before answering. “The servants seem to be dismissed, and … our provider is not answering.”

Daniel tilts his head, catching on immediately. “The farm is not answering?”

Louis exhales, through his nose. “They seem to have shut down. I called the trade office.” He clicks his tongue. “So, no more… provisions, for now.”

Daniel purses his lips. “You didn’t have those while going after Lestat either, did you? What makes it different now?”

Louis frowns, staring at the laptop screen for a moment, at the image of Daniel, on the other side of the planet. “I… am unsure. Dubai feels different, you know?” He grimaces, shaking his head. “It’s not feeling connected to the way that… drinking feels.”

Daniel narrows his eyes, just a bit, shifting to pick up his pen, tapping something on his computer. A soft ping announces that he tapes again. “How does drinking feel?”

Louis hesitates, and then averts his gaze, looking out of the windows at the night sky. It’s early evening still, he had decided to sleep during the day after the walk through memories, choosing to sleep in one of the guest rooms instead of the bedroom. “How would one explain it?” He shakes his head once. “Every… meal is different, and yet the same, scratching the same itch of need.” He swallows, the hunger churning in his guts for a long moment. “A base desire, making body and soul ache and yearn, taking one’s focus. The teeth pulse, the mouth salivates.” He swallows, pressing the tip of his tongue to his left fang for a long moment. “A maelstrom of feelings comes with the food, memories and thoughts, a lifetime of experience.”

He shifts, clearing his throat. “And then, at the threshold, all is felt. An orgasmic single moment, just as the light flares, brightly.” He closes his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The highest of highs.”

Daniel clicks his tongue, his tone dry. “Sounds like an addiction alright.”

Louis swallows, smiling, but his tone is sharp. “You would know, wouldn’t you.”

A beat, and then Daniel smiles, but it has a sharp edge to it. “I see you’re feeling more like yourself again.”

Louis looks at him, vaguely taken aback. “What is this supposed to mean.”

Daniel lifts his eyebrows. “No more demure, muted Louis… you’re back to your old, a lot sharper self.” Daniel weighs his head, tone carrying amusement. “Or at least you’re getting there.”

Louis exhales, quirking an eyebrow.

He takes a moment, before admitting. “I am feeling more like myself again.” He nods, once, adding softly. “Slowly.” He clicks his tongue, tilting his head, letting the challenge bleed in. “Though how you would know what my ‘old self’ is…?”

Daniel cackles, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Touché. However, I do know people, and you Louis, you did not attract Lestat’s attention by being dull.” Daniel smiles, broadly. “At least not from what you told me. And I bet the flashes of sharpness I encountered during the interview in June were only the tip of the iceberg.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, mulling over the statement for a bit, before shifting in his seat on the couch, letting it go for now. “Why don’t we get back to cross-referencing…”

Daniel hesitates, and then leans back a bit, shooting Louis a look, before, shrugging just slightly. Behind him the first rays of dawn color the New York sky. “So what is missing?”

Louis shrugs, once. “I know paintings that were once stored down there are missing.” He frowns. “Which reminds me, I haven’t even checked the dining room yet, I bet there’s paintings missing there as well.” He sighs. “There’s books missing, His clothes, his rings.” He pulls a face, then chuckles, a bit darkly. “He moved out, as I told him to.”

Daniel’s voice carries sympathy. “I’m sorry.” A beat. “Best moment to reclaim the place, as said.”

Louis exhales, and then nods, biting his lips. “True.” He smiles suddenly, his emotions churning for a long moment. “I found a picture of Claudia.” He clicks his tongue, reaching for the pain, letting it flow.

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Did she look like she did in your memory?”

Louis blinks, taken aback, and then frowns, mulling over the statement. “I… I think the version of her I had in my mind for our time in New Orleans…” He inhales, deeply. “She was more resigned, on our travels. Jaded. I think I want to keep her childlike wonder in my mind, the bliss of those first few years.” He smiles, a little bit brokenly. “But you’re right. She looked a little bit more childlike in my memories of her in New Orleans. Claudia… seemed to possess an old soul when we got to Paris.” He presses his lips together for a long moment. “Reality had made sure she matured beyond her looks.” He snorts, and then smiles, remembering. “And of course the humid warmth of New Orleans made her hair frizzle, like his. It usually seemed way more curly because of that.” The smile fades, slowly. “And with the change of the fashion, she started to wear it differently in Paris, too.”

His memories blur, realign, shaping Claudia as she was, slowly.

He nods to himself. “She was her own, and I failed her.”

Daniel is watching him, his eyes sympathetic, but not overly warm. “We still need to go through the missing diary pages.”

Louis blinks, very slowly. “Right.” He suddenly frowns, the thought coming as if an afterthought, an echo. “But where are they? And… Where is her dress?”

Daniel blinks, watching him through the camera. “You’re asking me?”

Louis frowns, and then gets up, bending to put the laptop onto the coffee table. He straightens up, staring into space. “I took her dress. I remember that. With her diaries.” He looks down at Daniel’s image. “I told you that.” He shakes his head, looking out at the city beyond the glass doors.

Daniel’s voice is careful. “Wasn’t it in the basement?”

Louis blinks, shaking his head once. “No.” He swallows. “I would have seen it, it’s yellow, and…” He trails off, remembering the music box, and the room for it. “But maybe I need to recheck.”

Daniel’s tone carries interest now. “I see.” A beat. “What else did you find down there.”

It is not quite a question, and Louis smiles sharply, stepping up to the window, knowing Daniel can still see him in the frame. “I found a kind of shrine, to the music box that I had packed away in New Orleans back then.”

Daniel chuckles. “Lestat’s music box?”

Louis nods, crossing his arms. “Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “Remember that I told you about the shrine they had at the theater? For Lestat I mean?”

He turns to look over his shoulder, watches Daniel look up and into the camera. “This felt the same. A shrine, to him.” He snorts, shaking his head. “It’s weird, because as much as Lestat…” He trails off, pressing his lips together, trying anew. “As much as the ground always felt liquid, as much as Lestat feels overwhelming… As much as I may have insinuated…” He unfolds his arms, waving his hand a bit. His voice conveys vague disdain, which he can feel pull at his expression. “I never felt the need to worship him.”

Not really.

Daniel hums, with a smirk. “He was too real to you.”

Louis shakes his head, once, biting his lips. “Maybe. Too many flaws, too many things he did not understand.” He swallows, adding, with a sigh. “Too many things I did not understand.”

Daniel offers, drily. “And now time has offered you perspective.” He smiles. “Again.”

Louis shoots him a withering look. “When I said that I was not sure what would happen.”

Daniel’s voice is gleeful. “Bullshit.” He holds up a pen towards the screen, waving it around. “You started this whole interview, the book, to get at the truth. You knew that something was off.” Daniel leans back, waving the pen around even more elaborately. “You saved my life back then in San Francisco so you would be able to reach out!”

Louis huffs, taken aback by the statement. “I saved your life because it was the right thing to do.”

Daniel cackles. “Oh yeah? Tell me Louis, how many men had you brought back and killed there? As many as Armand said?”

Louis presses his lips together. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Daniel is leaning forward again, his face big in the image on the screen and elongated by the angle. “Why me. Why the tag line of ‘a bright young reporter with a point of view’. Why did Armand listen to you then.”

Louis’ jaw twitches. “I had ordered him to.”

Daniel scoffs, something in his tone he cannot place. “Armand only followed the orders if he wanted to, so why did he?”

Louis blinks, shaking his head once, the words coming haltingly. “I guess… he must have wanted to save you after all.”

Daniel’s eyes seem to glitter. The word is not a question, but a demand. “Why.”

Louis scoffs, turning back to the laptop. “What are you insinuating?”

Daniel leans forward even more. “I’ve been going through the transcript. I’ve been going through the Talamasca files.” He pauses, and then emphasizes, heavily. “There’s gaps.”

Louis hesitates, before he repeats, slowly. “Gaps.”

Daniel’s voice is hard. “Yes. Very deliberate gaps. Negative spaces, telling their own story.”

Louis frowns, remembering his own acknowledgment of negative spaces in the basement. “What are you thinking?”

Daniel inhales, and then reaches for some papers, holds them up to the camera, but Louis does not really look at them, apparently tables with numbers. “I think there was something more that happened after San Francisco. I think there are a few years between the interview in San Francisco and you supposedly asking to have your memory erased after that shower in Sausalito.”

Louis frowns. “What makes you say that?”

Daniel waves the papers. “The Talamasca have listings of your property. Pretty much complete listings, by the way.” Daniel looks at the tables, and then back at the camera. Behind him, golden sunlight touches the New York skyline. “Armand did own a home in Sausalito, in 1978. From 1978.”

Louis’ heart stumbles, once.

His voice is not as steady as he wants it to be. “Maybe they’re wrong.”

Daniel hums, his tone making it clear he does not agree. “Maybe.” He lifts his eyebrows. “And maybe your boyfriend did not only erase a few days.”

Louis swallows, trying to get past the restriction in his throat. He remembers his own thought, of what Daniel might remember, when Daniel had seen the bedroom. What had that been about?

Louis tries to reject the notion, tries to reject the designation, but all that comes out eventually is: “He would not dare.”

Daniel scoffs, and then sighs. “Have you seen the film ‘The Stepford Wives’? The original I mean.”

Louis blinks, very slowly, a pit in his stomach. “I know it.”

Daniel smiles, the smile kind, but without actual sympathy. “That is how you seemed to me after he officially joined the interview. Well-adjusted, and mentally reset on every new session.” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t think it’s a big jump to think that he may have softened the full truth there a bit.”

Louis reaches up, putting both hands over his face.

His voice comes out a bit muffled. “So what do you suggest?” He pulls the hands down, very slowly. “Hypno-therapy?”

Daniel cackles. “You should. The only problem would be finding the proper therapist.”

Louis snorts, a bit bitterly, but rolls his head, hearing the joints pop. “Maybe we should ask Seth to find another doctor.”

Daniel hums. “Did he only bring Fareed over for that purpose?”

Louis hesitates, and then shakes his had. “I don’t think so.”

Daniel scribbles something onto paper, outside of the frame of the screen. “Are any vampires brought over for a purpose?”

Louis blinks, feeling a bit tired, knowing where this is going. “I do not know.”

“You could ask Seth.” Daniel shoots him a look, over the rim of his glasses. “You know, to reiterate: ask some questions.”

Louis frowns, and then rolls his shoulders. “We wanted to go over that part in San Francisco.”

Daniel hesitates, and then narrows his eyes. “You don’t want to ask Seth. Why is that Louis?”

Louis grimaces, and then closes his eyes, freezing in place for long long moments, until he heaves a sigh. “Seth… is obviously old. Obviously… comes from another place of value… and religion.”

Daniel is silent, waiting for him to continue, only prompting when he does not. “And, so?”

Louis heaves a sigh, trying to find the words to convey the hesitation he feels. “And we… are creatures of our time. We change very slowly. And we hold on to what we have, and have known, as long as we can.” He licks his lips.

Daniel’s voice is gentle, though his words cut deep. “And so you’re afraid there, too, of what he’ll say. Just as you’re afraid of what Lestat might reveal. Just as you’re afraid of what your own memories might reveal, if you retrieve them.”

Louis swallows, a part of him seething at the perceived affront, but he is also annoyed at himself, and at Daniel. Still, he knows Daniel is right, too, has admitted some of this before after all.

The word still tastes bitter on his tongue. “Yes.” A beat, and he adds, very gruffly. “But we already have been over that.”

He can hear the smile in Daniel’s words. “Yes, but you being angry about it is a good change to before.”

Louis scoffs. “Yes? How so?”

Daniel leans back, reaching out of frame to pull in a cup of coffee, his whole silhouette doused in gold. “In my experience it means that you’re finally getting ready to face shit.”

Louis closes his eyes. “You mean I am finally ready to face myself.”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “That, too.” He sighs, taking a sip. “Louis, no-one disputes that you had a shit show for life. No-one disputes that you are allowed to feel angry about that. No-one disputes that your life is far from easy. But you gotta start asking questions if you want the truth.”

Louis snorts, half amused, half bitter, pressing his lips together.

He inhales, lifting his chin a bit, something in him shifting. “I guess, I need to face the questions first.” He shoots a look at the laptop.

Daniel smirks a bit, his eyes glittering. “Questions are important, yes.”

Louis rolls his eyes a bit, but cannot help the small smile. “So.” He exhales. “San Francisco.”

Daniel purses his lips, watching him, and then nods, once. “San Francisco.” He taps his finger on the cup, once. “I want to try something. I want you to answer the question, quickly, one word or a few, but without thinking too much, okay?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, and then shrugs, vaguely intrigued but also doubting this will lead to much. “Okay.”

Daniel nods, and then pulls up a paper, holding it up, tilting his head a bit to be able to read it. “So.”

He clears his throat. “You came into the bar, to pick someone up.”

Louis exhales. “Yes.”

“To fuck, get high on drugged men and then kill them.”

“…Yes.”

“Was that the first time you’d seen me?”

“No.”

“Was Armand there?”

“Yes.”

“Was he always there?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did you think it strange that he was there that night?”

“I didn’t care. It’s all a blur. I wanted to numb myself, while at the same time…”

Daniel interrupts, gently. “Short answers only, Louis. Humor me, please.”

Louis clears his throat. “Alright.” He inhales. “Go on.”

“Did you always use the same house?”

“Yes. In San Francisco that is.”

“Did you clean up afterwards?”

“…no. I did not.”

“Did Armand do that?”

“I guess.”

“Did you not think that strange?”

“I thought it… justified.”

“You were aware of him trying to, let’s say repent?”

“I … guess. I… he… I guess I thought he could never so I dismissed it.”

“So you knew he was responsible.”

Louis hesitates, and then slowly shoots a look at the screen, with a frown, and a shiver running down his spine. Daniel lifts his eyebrows, silently prompting him.

Louis works his jaw, for a moment, and then answers, the words heavy. “I guess.”

Daniel’s eyes seem to bore into his. “You kept going onto these, what did he call it, ‘fuck around try-annually’ sprees because you were reeling from what had happened.”

Louis swallows. “Yes.”

“Did you sometimes invite Armand?”

Louis frowns. “No.”

“So why did you do so that night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you think he would accept?”

“No.”

“Why ask him then?”

“I guess… I wanted him gone. And his disgust at the whole situation…”

“You thought that if you invited him to join it would repulse him and get him to leave. And it did.”

“…Likely.”

“Knowing he was repulsed by your behavior made it more attractive for you?”

“…Sometimes.”

“Not always?”

“No. I wanted to numb myself, I told you.”

“Mhh. You said it hadn’t been the first time you’d seen me. Why did you choose to engage in conversation with me that night?”

“He had fed that night.”

“That was already a rare occasion even then?”

“Yes.”

“You thought that would pay into him not being interested.”

“Yes.”

“You were planning it all.”

Louis hesitates, and then exhales, nodding once. “I… think so.”

Daniel smirks. “You had made up your mind, somewhere deep down, to find Lestat.”

Louis swallows. “It seems that way.”

“The name unuttered in your lives for years.”

“Yes.”

“Was that a rule or a result.”

“An unspoken rule.”

“Were there many unspoken rules?”

“Some.”

“How did he convey them?”

“By refusing to be… dominated, mostly.”

“Did you ever talk about Lestat to him?”

“… No.”

“Why?”

“I was in too much pain.”

“Did you talk about Claudia?”

“Yes.”

“The pain for her was different?”

“… I guess, since she’s dead. I remember talking about her, and Grace, and…”

Daniel interrupts again, tone calm but firm. “Short and quick, Louis.”

He inhales and then continues. “Armand had told you about meeting Lestat?”

Louis frowns, trying to remember, hesitating before admitting. “Not yet.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “When did he do that?”

“I… after San Francisco. But the precise date…”

“Was there some kind of trigger?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Mhhh. Back to that night. You made sure to have drugs ready, so I could get high, so you could get high later.”

“Yes.”

“Who procured these drugs?”

“… I… “

“Did you go and buy them off the street?”

“No.”

“So who did?”

“I guess he must have.”

“But he was repulsed by your fuck-offs, as he called them. But still cleaned up and prepared them?”

“I… guess.”

“Did you ever feel any inkling about being watched there?”

“No.”

“Did other mortals ever enter the apartment?”

“I… couldn’t tell. There were many mortals around, and …”

“Short and quick. You invited me for the interview. Did you already know how to run it?”

Louis frowns. “I guess.”

“You knew exactly how Lestat ticked, you knew exactly what buttons to push.”

“As he knows about mine.”

“You knew which buttons to push for Armand, too?”

“I’ve always been good at reading people.”

“And you have the sharp tongue of your mother, yes.”

Louis shoots Daniel a bit of a withering look, but it falls flat, Daniel’s expression very much alive, and carrying the excitement of the hunt. “Your point?”

“You conducted the interview in order to produce a book, which would eventually draw out Lestat.”

“I guess.”

“So you knew Armand was at least partially responsible, and you knew Lestat was alive, and you had more or less forgiven him already for whatever part he had in it all.”

“… I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No? You decided to bad-mouth him, intentionally, to draw him out?”

“Yes, but…”

“Why else would you do that, after trying to punish him by choosing Armand?”

Louis pauses, frozen to the spot, trying to reach for an answer.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, slowly.

Daniel leans forward, big on the screen. “We’ll come back to this, later.”

Louis blinks, trying to rouse from his sudden stupor, feeling the world echo. “Later?”

“Yes.” A beat. “You attacked me, after I said I could be your Lestat, your Claudia, but better.”

Louis clenches his jaw, pressing the word out. “Yes.”

“You were pissed about that, to put it mildly.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think there’s anyone better than your daughter and your husband, do you, Louis.”

“…”

“Did you hallucinate Lestat between Paris and San Francisco?”

Louis feels exhausted, something in him shivering. “… I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“I… don’t know.”

“I think you do. But let’s return to that moment for now. You attacked me, and you didn’t bother with the swoon.”

“I was angry.”

“Do you do that often? Take out your anger on your victims?”

“I… I used to.”

“Is that part of why you stopped killing?”

“… Yes.”

“But not the whole reason.”

“No.”

“Alright. Did you think Armand would come in?”

“No.”

“But by attacking me you had made sure that your plan would fail.”

“I… was angry. I… didn’t think.”

“Were you glad when he threw you off?”

“I was annoyed.”

“You argued with him. Did you feel like apologizing?”

“No.”

“You felt you were in the right.”

“… Yes.”

“What was the trigger for you to go out into the sun.”

“I…”

“Was it Armand telling you that Lestat loved you? Or that Claudia did not.”

“Claudia loved me.”

“Why did you really remove pages of her diary. Why did he?”

“…”

“I still have not seen all of those, have I.”

“No.”

“Do you remember what they contain?”

“I’ve read them before.”

“I don’t dispute that. Do you remember what they contain?”

“Mostly.”

“Did you know then?”

Louis inhales a shaky breath, the admission coming slowly. “… I think so.”

There is a small pause, and Louis does not have to look at the screen to know that Daniel’s gaze carries some sympathy now. He swallows, reaching and failing to achieve equilibrium.

Daniel clears his throat. “You said that it was all coming back. And that you could hear her calling.”

Louis shivers, violently, wrapping his arms around himself. He closes his eyes, remembering the way Lestat’s eyes had looked as he had insisted to see her. “I heard her.” He licks his lips. “She called me.” He frowns, inhaling deeply, and then breathes out in a rush. “Do you think that’s possible?” He turns to the camera, locking eyes with Daniel. “That she survived as a ghost? A spirit? That… Lestat was not mad after all? Not crazy?” He squeezes his eyes shut, for a long moment, and then gasps, the sound suspiciously close to a sob. “What if she’s here, and has been trying to reach out, but I… could not hear her because my mind… What if that is part of what he…”

Daniel weighs his head. “I mean, I’m talking to a vampire.” He cackles. “So I’m not in the right position to doubt.” His voice softens, just a bit. “But Louis, if you’re right, then she is, or at least was haunting Lestat. Not you.”

The world blurs red, and Louis’ eyelids flutter, the tear tickling as it tracks down his cheek. “What if I did not want to hear her?”

Daniel hums. “But you said you did hear her.”

Louis’ eyes flicker away, and then back, his tongue feeling heavy shaping the words. “I did. I think I did. I… remember the feeling. I thought it was her.”

Daniel nods once. “And you ran towards the sun. Because she called you.” A beat. “Was there any other reason?”

Louis frowns, deeply. “What do you mean.”

Daniel’s expression is surprisingly soft. “Louis. He had just called your bluff. You had self-sabotaged your only chance to find Lestat.”

Louis shivers. “Anything better than to stay with him?”

Daniel tilts his head. “You could have gone into the sun in Paris. You could have gone into the sun at any time of those 23 years. But you did not. She wasn’t the trigger.” There is a pause, and Louis averts his eyes, unable to face Daniel, who continues. “It was Lestat.”

Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.

Armand’s voice echoes, with derision, and deep despair.

Louis swallows. “Not only.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes closed, the words scratching his throat. “But you’re probably not wrong either.”

“When you went into the sun, did you think you would die?”

Louis opens his eyes, slowly. “What?”

Daniel leans a bit forward. “Armand was there. Did you think he would let you die?”

Louis opens his mouth, but there are no words, every answer insufficient.

He forces an answer eventually. “I do not know.”

Daniel’s voice is a bit gleeful. “Bullshit.”

Louis’ gaze swivels to the laptop, suddenly furious. “I knew how it would hurt already, remember? I did not go into the sun because I did not mean it.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Ah yes, the milk incident. After your first kill.” He narrows his eyes. “Where Lestat did not go after his newborn fledgling…”

Louis’ nostrils flare. There is something churning in his stomach. “What are you insinuating.”

Daniel tilts his head. “Think, Louis. Lestat, choosing you, wooing you… marrying you, kind of, in a church. And then he lets you run out into the sun?”

Louis presses his lips together. “It’s what happened.”

Daniel inhales, and then lifts his eyebrows, emphasizes heavily. “It’s what you remember.”

Silence.

Eventually Louis turns away from the laptop, stepping up to the window.

He cannot think, the flailing doubt within paralyzing all thought.

Daniel’s voice breaks the silence, after a long moment, quoting. “Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.”

Louis frowns, turning his head to look at the screen.

Daniel’s expression is kind, and quite gentle. “Barbara Kingsolver.” He leans back, taking a sip of coffee before continuing, the golden glow around him of before having been replaced by colder light now. “We know Armand erased memories. We know he suppressed some of your memories… edited your mind. Why do you think it is different for your actual memories with Lestat?”

Louis blinks, very slowly. “I have to believe some… most of it is true?”

Daniel hums. “But is that more important than actually remembering the truth?”

Louis swallows, turning his head away again.

Daniel continues, his voice a bit firmer again. “You said you knew who you were without those pieces.” A beat. “Quite the fucked up thing to say, don’t you think?”

Louis swallows, but does not answer, his mouth dry.

Daniel clicks his tongue. “But, be that as it may… I know who I am without certain pieces as well.”

Louis frowns, turning to look at him, nodding once, sounding defeated to his own ears “Sausalito.”

Daniel nods. “Yes. Four, almost five years later, if the Talamasca research is to be trusted.”

Louis releases a breath, feeling exhausted. He closes his eyes. “And we trust that research, don’t we.”

Daniel’s voice carries understanding. “So far everything correlates with newspaper and other historical sources.” There is a short pause, and then Daniel’s voice comes again, with an insistent note to it. “Louis, let’s try to find out who we really are.” A beat. “Not just for the book.”

Louis swallows, feeling feverish, which is of course idiotic, he does not get sick.

He exhales, and then shrugs, the words dead-pan, though he does not feel the levity. “Guess I’ll wait with calling the interior designer then after all.”

At least for now.

Chapter Text

Three nights later he is finally sure that her dress isn’t there.

It should be there.

He knows he took it.

He remembers the feeling of it, in his hands.

And her diaries are there still. Except the missing pages. Which was to be expected, if he is honest.

But.

Where is the dress?

There is only one possible answer and the fact of it annoys him so much he cannot really think on it. Why would Armand take it with him? What… secret might it contain, what memory that Louis has forgotten?

He presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets, trying to alleviate the pressure he can feel lurking behind his eyes, vampiric body or not. Stress seems to be universal.

He sighs, lowering his hands after a moment, with a roll of his shoulders.

Louis watches the sun set, outside, behind the filters in the polarized glass windows, keeping him safe. The iPad is sitting there, next to the balcony door, on the chair Armand liked to sit in, when he faded into the background in his disguise as Rashid.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

Louis tears his gaze away, and goes out to feed.

*******

He’s deep into reading a first draft and editorial notes on a printed out possible chapter 3 when the announcement bell of the elevator rings, the sudden awareness of a heart beating outside his penthouse entrance almost surreal.

He had not expected guests.

And the servants have been by exclusively during the day.

Louis gets up, slowly, walking down the hallway to the still closed doors, trying to discern who might come by at 2am. He cannot read the mind outside the doors, but the presence seems familiar, and he tries to pinpoint it, with a frown, reaching for the button after a moment’s hesitation.

Raglan James smiles at him, very politely, as the doors glide open. “Mr. Du Lac. I hope I do not come at an inconvenient time.”

Louis exhales, looking at him for a long moment, and then lets his gaze drop to the boxes that have been stacked on the floor next to Raglan, on a little wheeled wagon, which Raglan seems to be able to drive via remote control.

He clicks his tongue. “And you brought gifts.”

Raglan tilts his head. “As said before, we have items of yours in our possession. As a gesture of goodwill we have decided to return them.”

Louis purses his lips, weirdly ticked off. “What makes you think I want things back I left behind?”

Raglan lifts his eyebrows, the blue eyes behind the thick glasses twinkling slyly. “Oh, I do think you might want these items. I think you might have wondered where they were by now?”

Louis frowns, and then steps up, to open the top box. Which contains books, old books from his old library at Rue Royale, granted, but only books.

Raglan’s voice carries a certain satisfaction. “Third one from the top.”

Louis blinks, and then lifts the two boxes off, putting them down to the side, opening the third after a moment’s hesitation.

He freezes, his breath stuck in his throat, the yellow of the cloth still so bright, a flash of gold, like the sun. He gasps, and then takes it out with shaking hands, the jab of pain he feels when he sees the blood around the edges and tears in it burrowing deep.

He presses the words out, stammering. “Where… how… I thought…” So it hadn’t been Armand after all.

Raglan hums, nodding once, his hands clasped loosely before his waist. “We picked those items up in Sausalito.”

Sausalito again. Louis swallows, his fingers gliding over the cloth, over the threads.

Finely spun, finely made, to fit, hugging her frame just right.

Madeleine had had skill, a skill that had made Claudia shine, in her own right, in her own light.

He swallows, carefully folding the dress, holding it between his flattened palms.

His voice is scratchy. “Thank you.”

Raglan nods, once. “May I come in?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, looking at the other boxes for a moment, before trying to quip, though his voice is shaking a bit. “Isn’t it usually the vampire who has to ask that?”

A small smile plays on Raglan’s lips. For a moment, there is an echo to his heartbeat, like something half remembered, but then it is gone, and Raglan shrugs. “One would argue a member of the Talamasca should do so, too.”

Louis clicks his tongue, sending Raglan another look, and then steps back, wordlessly holding open the doors.

Raglan nods, and then takes the remote, wheeling the little wagon in carefully, driving it towards the living room without hesitation, letting it stand on the raised platform next to the entrance, on top of the three stairs.

Louis smiles, his hands still holding the dress. “I see you are familiar with my apartment.”

Raglan shoots him a look, putting the remote onto a small cabinet. “That should not come as a surprise?” He taps his fingers once, on the remote, and then turns to face Louis. “We have never denied that we possess certain knowledge.”

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “And things.”

Raglan tilts his head in acknowledgment. “And things.”

Louis swallows, and then steps past Raglan, to put the dress onto the coffee table. “What else is in the boxes?”

Raglan inhales, turning to shoot a look at the boxes, before stepping down to the couch. “Some clothes, some jewelry, some books. Some records.”

“You took all that from Sausalito?” Louis sits down, slowly, extending his hand for Raglan to do the same. “When?”

Raglan sits down, crossing his legs, hands clasped loosely in his lap. He seems the very picture of relaxation, and Louis wonders for a split second what would make Raglan stressed - and show it, too. “After you left.” He hesitates for a split second. “You will notice that all items in this collection are items that carry a special meaning for you, and for her, especially. They are also all items that… are somehow connected to him.”

Louis blinks. “Him?”

Raglan’s finger twitches. “Lestat.”

Louis exhales, through his nose, watching Raglan for a moment. “Tell me about how you got them. Why you picked them up.” His eyes flicker to the boxes, before they return to Raglan’s eyes. “Why you did not return them before.”

Raglan narrows his eyes, with a small smile. “To what end? We believe Armand would just have put them away again?”

Louis tilts his head. “You are insinuating Armand left them behind on purpose?”

Raglan inhales. “What do you know or remember of Sausalito?”

Louis hesitates, and then licks his lips. “I… not much. He claimed I asked him to remove my memories there.”

Raglan’s smile seems to convey quite succinctly what he thinks of that. “You might remember in time. For now, let it suffice to say that after the events in San Francisco, and the years after, that we think”, the tiniest pause, and one that Louis almost misses, ”that Armand could not stand enduring another loss. And so it was assured he would not lose you.”

Louis frowns, staring at him.

It’s easy to follow the implications, but spelling them out seems to be a thing of impossibility, the words stuck in his throat.

He clears it, to get them out. “After he lost Daniel.”

Raglan’s eyes twinkle. “Yes.”

Louis inhales, blinking slowly. “What happened in San Francisco? What exactly.”

Raglan shrugs, just a bit. “You were on one of your killing sprees. Mr. Molloy managed to survive the night, sparring with you, spurring you on in a way. The final attack on him notwithstanding, but he was indeed interesting enough for you to forget the kill itself.”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth. “I know that.”

Raglan smiles, thinly. “We had bugged the apartment. We did not interfere, of course.” He spreads his fingers a bit. “Besides, the information presented was much too interesting.”

Louis’ lips twitch. “Me laying into Lestat.”

Raglan chuckles. “Yes. The emotion behind your words was almost as interesting as your words.” Raglan sobers a bit, watching Louis. “It was interesting to hear you confirm certain events. We were able to link a lot of newspaper articles of the 1920s and 1930s because of your references that night.”

Louis pulls a bit of a face. “You did not have an agent in New Orleans?”

Raglan shakes his head once. “Not at the time. The Mayfairs were not always on speaking terms with us.” He smiles again. “Though that relationship has improved in recent times.”

Louis hums. “And so, are you saying the Mayfairs were … what.”

Raglan lifts his eyebrows. “You do not know?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Know what.”

Raglan sighs, under his breath. “The Mayfair family was in contact with Mr. De Lioncourt. Mary Beth Mayfair wanted you gone from New Orleans. There was… a mutual understanding.”

Louis blinks, something clicking into place. The salt circles. Bibles. Dolls. Witchcraft. “Huh.”

Raglan hums. “Yes. As I said, the relationships have… relaxed in recent times.” He smiles pleasantly. “To return to San Francisco… we could not interfere when you finally attacked Mr. Molloy - but then that wasn’t necessary, as it turned out.”

Louis frowns, a bit peeved, and mind still preoccupied by the revelation of Lestat and… Mary Beth Mayfair. “Armand almost killed him, if I had not interfered.”

Raglan nods, with a little shrug. “True. But all’s well that ends well.” He shrugs again. “We saw you leave the house with him, knowing he was still alive.” He sobers a bit, the blue eyes calculating, watching Louis. “You were still alive.”

Louis works his jaw for a moment, remembering the pain. “He saved me.”

Raglan weighs his head. “And then he let you lie there, in pain, for days.”

Louis scoffs. “It wasn’t days. “

Raglan lifts his head. “Five nights total. One interview night - four nights left. Four days, three nights he let you lay there. He put Mr. Molloy into a spell. Killed the neighbor. Cleaned up. We think he also went and wiped the minds of those who might have remembered Mr. Molloy in that bar.”

Louis swallows, wanting to reject the notion, but he cannot, not really.

He clears his throat again. “Fine. Three nights. And then…” The call. He trails off, biting his lips.

Raglan’s eyes twinkle. “Indeed.”

Louis frowns, and then shoots him a more than annoyed look, his voice hard, carrying his anger. “Don’t. I do not read yours, please refrain from reading my thoughts, otherwise this cooperation is over.”

Raglan blinks, and then has the good grace to looks somewhat sheepish, straightening up in his seat. “My apologies. It’s… a habit.”

“Mh hmm.” Louis presses his tongue to his right fang. “So is my feeding.”

Raglan narrows his eyes, and then taps his fingers, once, before smiling again. “We found it interesting that Armand would call Mr. De Lioncourt.”

Louis closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, and then lets the anger go, deliberately. “So did I.” He swallows, and then shakes his head once. “I thought he would leave me there and then.”

Raglan nods. “We believe that was his intention. He had already transferred money.” He clicks his tongue. “We did not have a recording in the apartment at that point anymore. And so we had stationed an agent on the other side of the street, with a directional microphone.” He shrugs. “We were able to hear the spoken parts of the call. There is a transcript, too.”

Louis swallows, hearing the tone of Lestat’s voice in his memory, his mind, his soul, feeling it. He has thought about the ‘call’, often. Has tried to envision what Lestat might have said that Armand did not relay. “You want me to fill in the gaps?”

Raglan hesitates, and then shrugs. “We want to know how Armand not only knew where Lestat was… but also why he chose not to leave you after all.”

Louis swallows, his eyes flickering away for a second. “You said it yourself: he did not want to lose me.”

Raglan narrows his eyes. “He changed his mind mid-call. What…” He tilts his head. “What did Lestat say? Do you know?”

Louis hesitates, and then shakes his head. “No. I do not.”

“You haven’t asked?” Raglan’s voice carries surprise. “Why not?”

Louis presses his lips together, trying to curb his annoyance. “I thought I had time.” He smiles, not quite friendly. “And, ultimately, I do have the time.”

Raglan smiles back, in exactly the same way. “Indeed.” He exhales, a bit forcefully, through his nose. “Fine then. Do you know how Armand knew how and possibly where to find Lestat?”

Louis hesitates, mentally rummaging about the fact that Raglan knows about the deal - and Sam Barclay’s face when he mentioned the visit.

He clicks his tongue. “I believe that’s something you can tell me.”

Raglan smiles, a real smile, with a chuckle. “Quid pro quo, Mr. Du Lac.” He hums, and then adds, shifting to cross his legs. “But you are quite right. We do know some of what transpired back then.” He nods, once. “Of course not everything. But then you do not know everything either, do you?”

Louis’ fangs ache to drop.

He resorts to sarcasm instead. “How astute of you.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “How about we return to Sausalito.”

Raglan quirks an eyebrow, and then shrugs, lightly. “As you prefer.” He hesitates, and then continues, his voice a bit more neutral, seemingly reciting. “We cleaned the house after you left it. As the decision to wipe your memory there seems to be connected to Armand’s fear of loss we were surprised to see several of his - and your - possessions there. A painting, clothes, books.” His eyes flicker to the dress on the table. “The dress.”

Something hangs in the air, unsaid.

Louis hums, trying to pinpoint it. “How long did we live there?”

Raglan lifts his eyebrows. “You only lived there for a short while. In fact the house was often abandoned, with Armand after Daniel and you…” Raglan trails off, with a small smirk. “You also traveled far and wide.” He tilts his head. “Do you remember those travels?”

Louis swallows, his throat clicking. “No.”

“Hmmm.” Raglan shrugs. “Might come back, eventually.” He waves a hand. “You sometimes met up with Mr. Molloy and Armand.”

Louis frowns. “We met up?”

Raglan nods. “Yes. You usually spent some time with them and then set out on your own again.” He pauses, tilting his head before continuing. “We were surprised that Sausalito was such a consistent point of return.”

Louis frowns, mulling over it. “Do you know why?”

Raglan shakes his head. “No. We suspect it might have to do with Daniel himself, but without further information…” He chuckles. “Our resources show that Daniel usually was not at the home… he usually was visiting friends in San Francisco when you and Armand were in Sausalito.”

Louis frowns. “Did he always know we were there?”

Raglan shrugs. “That we do not know. We only know that this hideout was abandoned after his last visit.”

Louis mulls over the word. “Hideout…” He scoffs. “Maybe you should say ‘lair’… wouldn’t that be more fitting?”

Raglan hums. “It would.” He smiles. “But really, Sausalito was… what Armand called a home, maybe, but it was more a hideout that you visited from time to time.” He spreads his hands a bit. “And should not the right term be used?”

Louis watches him, for a long moment. “Are all Talamasca agents this … confident?”

Raglan laughs under his breath. “Only the experienced.” He tilts his head. “Do not take my confidence as you called it for carelessness, Mr. Du Lac.” He lifts his chin a bit. “I know well the danger a mortal is in while in your presence.” A beat. “Especially since you started killing once more fairly recently.”

Louis relaxes his shoulders, with an effort. “Still. After decades…” He lifts his eyebrows, trying for a reaction but does not get one, Raglan’s face and mind giving nothing away. “…and centuries of observation one wonders why the Talamasca have chosen to engage now.”

Raglan hums. “You have chosen to engage, Mr. Du Lac. Your interviews have breached into the open. Into the mortal world.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “If any serious publishing house will publish Daniel’s book.”

Raglan tilts his head, the thick glasses hiding his eyes for a moment with the reflection on them. “We are willing to help with that.”

Louis leans back, crossing his own legs as well, hands loosely clasped in his lap. “See, I don’t quite get why.” He works his jaw, his tone softening a bit, speaking more to himself. “And I have the feeling that the why… is quite important.”

Raglan nods. “The why is always important. But… “ He lifts his shoulders, just a tad. “But the why is not always at disclosure.”

A jab through Louis’ guts, and the memory of Lestat’s expression, when he heard that Louis knew about Marius.

He clears his throat, feeling he should be annoyed at Raglan walling, but unable to conjure the heat. “And your reasons are not for disclosure I take it.”

Raglan smiles, thinly. “In time.”

Louis purses his lips, nodding slowly. “You said you had something of Lestat, that you found in Sausalito.” His eyes flicker over to the boxes, something in him churning suddenly, wanting to go through them. “What is it?”

Raglan hesitates, and then amends. “We think they are connected to him.”

Louis pastes a smile on. “Oh?”

Raglan hums. “Apparently Armand also shares that predilection for jewelry.” Louis’ heart thuds but stays silent, watching Raglan, who is in turn watching him. “We are an order of very gifted members though, and a medium said some of them belonged to Mr. Lioncourt.”

Louis licks his lips. “A medium.”

Raglan hums. “Yes. I know how that sounds, but you especially should believe in the supernatural, should you not?”

Louis frowns, opening his mouth to respond, but he stops himself, something in him rebelling against discussing his faith with Raglan.

He clicks his tongue, switching to back the subject instead, trying not to sound too hopeful. “So. You found rings?”

Raglan hesitates, a faint smile on his lips, and Louis does not know whether he just passed or failed a test. “Yes. Some of them might be familiar.”

There is an expectant pause after, as if Raglan expect Louis to get up and get them, now, but Louis resists the urge to do exactly that, sitting quietly until Raglan continues.

“Does the dress match your memory?”

Louis frowns, taken aback. “What?”

Raglan tilts his head. “The dress. Does it match with what you remember of her on stage?”

Louis blinks, not quite sure where this is leading. He lowers his gaze to the dress, unfolding his hands to reach out to it, his index finger stroking along the pattern. “It seems like it. I remember her wearing it…” He blinks up, with a small snarl, tone sharp, but challenging. “Why. Should I consider having it tested for ash and residual DNA?” He lifts his eyebrows, knowing his eyes are likely blazing. “Are you trying to fool me?”

Raglan uncrosses his legs, sitting up, holding his hands up.

He seems utterly serious suddenly. “No. No, that is not what I meant.” He locks eyes with Louis, speaking calmly and a bit more slowly. “I meant in relation to what you told Mr. Molloy what happened in Paris.”

Louis lets his fangs drop a bit, not bothering to hide them, nor the sharpness in his tone. His hunger roars. “She was tortured, and killed, in this dress.”

Raglan hesitates, nodding very slowly, once. “Yes. But…” He licks his lips, seeming a bit nervous for the first time he is in Louis’ apartment. “But could she have been in the rat box?”

Louis scoffs, with derision, the emotion pure somehow. “What?”

Raglan keeps on watching him, obviously trying to be careful. “We think that maybe the shoving of her into the rat box did not happen.”

Calm descends, a calm that feels like red-hot ice. “What.”

Raglan narrows his eyes, just a bit, though his tone is very careful. “If she had been shoved into the rat box, Louis, and if they had found her there would be a lot more tears, and more blood, and…”

“Shut up.”

Silence.

Louis cannot breathe.

He gets up eventually, his whole body feeling as if made from rubber, weak, and shaky. He makes himself stalk over to the windows, turning his back on Raglan and the dress, his arms crossed, shoulders hunched. There is a pressure in his neck and the back of his head, pounding with his heartbeat.

The words come gruff, short, with little intonation, thin, like Louis feels. “I think you should leave now.”

He expects Raglan to argue, to try to discuss, but there is only the rustling of cloth as Raglan gets up, silently heads towards the door.

His words reach Louis, from afar, threading itself into Louis’ consciousness. “Yellow looks good in here.”

Louis closes his eyes, refusing to think.

******

“And he just left after that?”

Louis nods, pacing up and down in front of the laptop on the table. “Yes. I did… do find that weird, in hindsight.”

Daniel scratches his forehead. “So. What do you think he was hinting at?”

Louis groans, reaching up to rub his face with both hands. “God, I do not know. I mean, obviously he means to imply that what I remember cannot have happened…”

Daniel nods. “Right. So what did?”

Louis voice is muffled behind his hands, his breath puffing against his palms. “I have no idea.” He shakes his head, lowering his hands slowly. “I remember… I remember the sounds as the rats found her.” He stares at the ceiling, letting the red blur, clear, and blur again. “But he’s right… if the rats had … if the rats…” He trails off, swallowing. “It can’t be what happened.”

Daniel’s voice is calm. “And you’re sure it’s her dress.”

Louis nods, sniffing, wiping the tears away after a moment. “Yes. It’s the cut, the cloth, the… there’s blood on it. Dried blood. I know it’s hers.”

“Hmmm.”

Louis cackles, turning to the laptop camera. “Hmm?”

Daniel shrugs, the glasses on his nose having fallen down to the tip of his nose. “It seems to me as if he maybe tried to trigger or know something specific.” His eyes find Louis’ through the camera. “There must be a lot of details of the trial that… well. Went a bit differently?”

Louis scoffs. “The outcome is the same?” He looks away, clicking his tongue. “So what, you want to postpone our project, the book, until I have regained all my memories? Until we found the rest of the missing diary pages?”

Daniel hums. “I’m not sure I could. They… are very eager to read first edits.”

Louis frowns, feeling deeply irritated. “I asked him why by the way.”

“Oh?” There’s true interest in Daniel’s voice. “What did he say?”

Louis smiles, viciously. “That the why was currently not for disclosure.”

Daniel cackles. “Of course.”

Louis exhales, hearing the echoes of Lestat’s voice. If he squints hard enough, he can see the fading image of him, in that courtyard, like a projection against the wall.

“Louis?”

Louis blinks, turning back to the laptop. “Yes?”

Daniel hesitates, then pushes his glasses back up. “You zoned out there for a moment.”

Louis swallows, shaking his head once. “Sorry.“ He frowns, wondering for a moment how long he stood there, but dismisses the thought again, with a sigh. “He did tell me a few things about Sausalito. Though even there… he always seems to want me to remember, not to actually exchange information.”

Daniel weighs his head. “They’ve been collecting information for centuries, and I don’t see any books published by them. I bet that’s just second nature to them, not to speak of what they know with outsiders…” He heavily emphasizes the last word, chuckling a bit. “No matter if one is involved.”

Louis snorts. “Sounds about right.” He hesitates, and then adds, carefully. “Sausalito involved you, too.”

Daniel just nods, surprisingly calm. “I figured as much.” Louis quirks an eyebrow, and Daniel leans back, shrugging. “He said you both”, he lifts his hands, to make quoting air signs, “’abandoned me’.” He shrugs. “I tried to remember that time, but it’s all a blur.” He hesitates, and then continues. “But it’s around that time I started to be really driven. Focused. Eventually successful.”

Louis exhales, rolling his shoulders. “Apparently you and Armand were off together most of the time. Apparently I was with you at times, but went off alone as well.” He frowns, staring at the room unseeing. “I wonder where I went.”

Daniel snorts. “I wonder where -I- went.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You know Louis, so much of the interview we did seems weird in retrospect. You kept taunting me with him during the first few days, you know? And then that… stopped. Why?”

Louis frowns. “I taunted you with him?”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “Pineapple, the blood drinking in front of me? Ring a bell?”

Louis grimaces. “I…”

Daniel continues, the eyes glittering behind the glasses. “Your behavior with him was very different while you still thought you were in control.”

Louis turns away abruptly, the words bitter on his tongue. “I thought I could handle…” Him. “…it.”

“Mhh.” Daniel leans forward a bit. “Do you think you could, now?”

Louis blinks, very slowly, before turning back to face Daniel.

He hesitates to answer, mulling over the question for a while. “I am not sure.”

Daniel exhales, and then taps his finger on the table, once. “Did you order him to play Rashid, or was that his idea?”

Louis frowns, shifting to his other foot. “I… it was part of our dynamic at times. I just invoked it when you came. We decided on Rashid, because it gave us a template.”

“I did not have the impression that he wanted to be there at first.”

Louis weighs his head, trying to remember. “He was livid. He… And then…”

Daniel interrupts him, pushing. “You were quite different at first, too.”

Louis exhales, rolling his shoulders. “I thought I was in control. I thought I had it all thought out.”

Daniel nods. “You had it all set up.” He clicks his tongue. “Why though?”

Louis frowns. “Why?”

“Yes.” Daniel shuffles through some papers. “Why. Why the letter and the tapes, why the medication.”

Louis’ frown deepens, feeling etched into his features now.

There is an answer there, somewhere, but he cannot reach it, the truth of it just out of reach.

Daniel leans forward, big on the camera now. “Why the ‘more nuanced portrait’, why the interview that still hid the truth?” Daniel cackles, spreading his hands a bit. “I mean, we know it wasn’t the truth. Not the whole truth at least. So why…” He sighs. “Why now.”

Louis slowly walks back over, sinks onto the sofa, his arms crossed.

He repeats, slowly, trying to make sense of his own actions. “I prepared, carefully. We checked with your medical status, talked with Fareed. I sent you the tapes.”

Daniel taps his fingers. “That, too. I remember Armand pulling out the magnetic tapes of the cassettes.”

Louis shakes his head. “He must have not done that to all of them.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “But the first interview itself is without glaring 60 minutes gap? It’s connected, the tapes are connected.”

Louis cackles, though he does not feel like it. “What are you saying, Daniel - the tapes were restored?” He scoffs. “By whom? How?”

Daniel leans in a bit again. “Louis, I remember him asking me about the other tapes, and then putting them away. He pulled out the magnetic tape of at least one of our interview tapes.” Daniel hesitates, and then lifts his eyebrows, slowly. “Tapes with content that the Talamasca had their own record of.”

Louis closes his eyes. “Impossible.”

Daniel snorts. “Do you remember taking them? From San Francisco, I mean?”

Louis shakes his head, unseeing, his voice barely audible. “No.”

Daniel hums, his voice carrying something Louis cannot quite place, something energetic, a thrill. “I think the question isn’t if Armand destroyed the tapes. I think it is how he got them back - and what he paid for it. And why.”

Louis opens his eyes, very slowly. “I really cannot see him being in some kind of deal with the Talamasca.”

Daniel’s voice is soft, but it carries a punch. “Do you really think Sam Barclay was able to infiltrate the Parisian coven without Armand knowing?”

Silence.

All Louis can hear is his heart, thundering, and the rush of blood in his ears.

Daniel continues, after a moment, his voice coming as if through a thick fog. “I asked real Rashid about the tapes being delivered, you know. When we were out for sushi. He didn’t answer, but Raglan showed up just then, and he warned me that I would not need to be afraid of Armand - but you.”

Louis tries to breathe properly, the words coming haltingly. “Me?”

Daniel hums. “Or, at least I think he meant you. ‘The other one…’” He clicks his tongue. “Ominous, isn’t it.”

Louis frowns, shaking his head, to clear the fog. “But why would I hurt you. I wanted this interview. I needed it. I…” He trails off, the words on the tip of his tongue.

Daniel prompts, gently. “You…?”

Louis swallows. “I knew things were off. I knew I could not do it alone. I knew I could not… stop him.”

Daniel’s voice is calm. “I was your lifeline.”

Louis exhales. “Yes.”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “Which makes it all the more … let’s say weird that I got the tapes. Supposedly from you.”

Louis frowns, remembering asking Armand for them. “They were in the basement. He went and got them for me when I asked for them.” He swallows. “He always got me the things I wanted.” He inhales, turning towards Daniel. “I wrote the letter. He sent it off.”

“Hmm.” Daniel bends to the side, rummages around on the floor for a moment, before coming up with said letter in hand. “LdL as monogram.” He looks into the camera. “Why LdL? Then, I mean? Had you planned on ditching the ‘de Pointe’ already?”

Louis hesitates, and then quirks an eyebrow. “Guess I must have.”

Daniel’s eyes glitter. “But you introduced your whole name to me, with no further comment. Did you pick the stationary yourself?”

Louis opens his mouth, and then closes it again, with a shrug. “I don’t remember.”

Daniel hums, typing something on his computer. “I checked, I called you by that abbreviated version of the name, so did he. Your tale has others call you ‘Mr. Du Lac’, too.” Daniel looks up into the camera. “In San Francisco you had a credit card with the whole name. Does the current card hold your whole name still as well?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what’s so important about that.”

Daniel smiles, the teeth flashing for a moment. “I take that as a ‘yes’.” The tiniest pause. “Who are you, Louis?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you your past? Tied to the money of your ancestor’s plantation? To the money of the brothels? Or are you someone else, tied to him.”

Louis blinks, refusing to ask who ‘him’ is.

Daniel continues, with a small smirk, that grates. “You must have changed names and birth certificates so often, but you always returned to the full name for the legal documents?”

Louis swallows, trying to stay calm. “You said it yourself, I have to find out who I am.”

Daniel holds up the stationary, waving it a bit for emphasis. “I think you started to try to do so a long time ago.” He puts the letter down again. “Did Lestat have a monogram as well?”

Louis inhales. “You saw the one in New Orleans?”

Daniel nods. “Yes, but the one in Paris?”

Louis frowns. “Same header, yes. Not a monogram, but his whole name.”

Daniel hums, scribbling something down. “Like the card you showed me.”

“Yes.” Louis shoots him a look. “Why?”

Daniel looks up at him, over the rim of his glasses. “You could have done something like that as well?”

Louis grimaces, starting to get irritated. “Yes? So? What of it?”

Daniel smirks, his tone carrying amusement. “I think it just shows a lot of who you really are, Louis.” He hesitates, and then adds, slowly. “Little things, little pokes in your relationship with Armand. Stationary with a monogram that could reference Lestat but is not conclusive. The way you talked about sex with Lestat while Armand was present. The way you sent Armand out, despite knowing he would be able to hear everything in the apartment I bet.” Daniel’s eyes are clear, and hard. “You like power. And you are loathe to yield it.”

Louis presses his lips together for a long moment, his voice sharp, while his whole body feels taut. “Who doesn’t? I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Daniel nods slowly, watching him, and then shrugs, slowly, his voice dry as the desert. “Of course not.” He shuffles the papers together, placing the letter on top of it, with his palm pressing down onto it. “Now that you’re eating properly again…” He looks up into the camera, then down at his screen again. “Have your gifts improved?”

Louis blinks, definitely irritated now by the change of subject. “What do you mean?”

Daniel hums, leaning in to put the papers away behind the screen. “I mean… you drank from Armand in Dubai. And you were able to slam him into the wall.” He pauses, and then smiles. “How powerful are you, Louis?”

Louis swallows, and then clicks his tongue. “I… I don’t think there’s a metric.”

Daniel nods, seemingly to himself.

His tone is suspiciously inconspicuous. “But by all intents and purposes Armand is much more powerful than you?”

Louis scoffs. “Armand is an anc…” He stumbles over the word, the image of Seth in front of his inner eye for a moment. “I mean, Armand is very old.”

“Yes.” Daniel tilts his head. “Exactly.”

Louis feels very tired suddenly. “Your point?”

Daniel narrows his eyes, watching him for a moment. “What does having the blood of Akasha mean for you, Louis?”

Louis blinks, hesitating. “For me?”

Daniel smiles, a real little smile. “Yes. For you.” He waves his hand a bit. “You said that Lestat talked about the blood of Akasha. Who is Akasha and why did that make it impossible to burn him?”

Louis frowns, deeply. “I…” There is something, nagging at the back of his mind, but he cannot pin it down, dismissing it after a few seconds, admitting defeat. “I think I’m supposed to know who that is, but I can’t remember.” He shrugs. “I mean, he was so weird there…” He trails off.

Daniel hums. “You said your blood was his blood.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “And he said: and yet.” He swallows, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, and then scoffs, and then laughs. “You know, he looked so good there. Clean, hair in beautiful waves… he seemed so collected.” He lowers his eyes again. “So cold. Remote.”

Daniel’s eyes flash. “Callous, and cold, like a calculating narcissist? Uncaring?”

Louis’ eyes flicker to Daniel’s.

Daniel tilts his head. “Like in the tale of Armand and Lestat meeting?” Louis doesn’t answer, something churning in the pit of his stomach. Daniel exhales, and then he types in something on his computer, his voice carrying something like glee. “You know, the Talamasca have records of there being someone else.”

Louis swallows, past the lump in his throat. “Someone else?”

Daniel nods. The reflection in his glasses flares up, mirroring a folder he is opening. “Yes. And I think you’re going to find this rather interesting.”

Louis swallows again, waiting, until Daniel looks up again. “Interesting?”

Daniel smirks, and then leans back, adjusting his glasses so he can read off the screen. “Gabrielle de Lioncourt. Turned in Paris, shortly before one Nicolas de Lenfent.” He leans in a bit. “It says here that she and Lestat ran into problems with the Parisian coven.” His eyes flicker up to the camera, then back at the screen, while Louis feels nauseous. “It says here that there were meetings between the three of them, Lestat, Gabrielle and Armand.” Daniel leans back, with a small sigh. “Now, I don’t know about you, but if the characterization painted omits whole… obviously important characters, then I would wonder if said characterization fits with the memory.”

His eyes come up, to find Louis’ through the camera, tone dry. “Does the characterization of that scene fit with your other memories?”

Louis’ voice shivers, and he hates it.

He presses out a small laugh. “Lestat can be a callous bastard, I assure you.”

Daniel hums, with a nod. “I have no doubt about it! But is he cold, when it comes to you and your relationship? I mean, I recall you telling me of him hiding in bushes, and screaming over a blow job.”

Louis frowns, deeply, hearing Lestat say, in that tone, that tone that had felt so off: ‘Enjoy him.’

He presses the words out. “Who was Gabrielle?”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “Is, in all likelihood, there‘s no entry in regards to her death.” A grin spreads over Daniel’s face. “And, you’re not gonna believe it Louis...” He leans forward a bit, his face huge on the screen: “She’s his mother.”

Louis blinks, slowly, and then says the only thing that comes to mind: “Huh.”

Chapter Text

“Are we done?”

“If you don’t have any more memories you’d like to share?”

“I don’t think I have anything else that can be added to the interview at this point.”

“Your tone suggests you are still miffed.”

“How long did you know about Gabrielle de Lioncourt again?”

“Now, now, Louis, knowing is a bit too much. There isn’t even an image. And the information provided is very limited, and obviously carefully narrowed down.”

“…”

“What.”

“There used to be a portrait in our coffin room… of a blond woman… would you stop laughing?!”

“Oh, you have to admit, Louis, it’s hilarious. He held his history right in front of your nose, but you never asked?”

Louis groans, leaning back on the couch with his hands over his face, feeling annoyed and angry, at Daniel, at Lestat, at himself… but somewhere deep down there’s also mirth, mirth born from slow acceptance and begrudging irony.

He lets it color his words. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sighs, rolling his eyes a bit, mostly at himself. “I just… life was just…” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I definitely would do some things differently now.”

Daniel cackles, quipping. “Hindsight is 20/20!”

Louis snorts, and then sobers. “Yeah. Yeah it is.” He shoots a look at the screen. “I mean, given what I know now it is starting to make more sense. The way Lestat would close up when I did ask, it just made very clear that he would not talk about it. And so I didn’t ask. Obviously I know now that he did not do so voluntarily.”

Daniel hums, a smile still playing on his lips. “In fact one might say he tried to stretch the bounds of that rule that had been imposed on him. Nicolas’ music box, Gabrielle’s portrait… you talked about an Egyptian chair in the coffin room? Little things and trinkets? I think he tried to tell you a lot… without actually telling you.”

Louis sighs, rubbing his brow. “I did not know how to listen I guess.”

Daniel snorts, and then hums, his tone gentler than Louis anticipates. “It’s hard to know what to make of things or what the answer actually is if you don’t know the question.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Like, 42.”

Louis blinks, something ringing at the back of his mind. “42?”

Daniel nods. “Yeah. Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Douglas Adams. The answer to life, the universe, and all the rest… is 42. But since no-one actually knows the precise question…”

Louis nods, remembering now. “Right.” He sighs. “That fits surprisingly well.”

Daniel taps something into his computer. “Got another email, requesting our first draft. They really want to get into editing with me.”

Louis shakes his head, once. “I wonder where that urgency comes from.”

Daniel pulls his eyebrows up, tone dry. “Mortal lifetimes?”

A small smile plays on Louis’ lips. “Right. Maybe.”

Daniel shoots him a look. “You’re growing appreciative of eternity? What happened to the vampire being bored?”

Louis snorts. “Well, the last few months were not boring.” He blinks, looking at Daniel. “That is all.” He inhales. “Decades of a golden cage… and now everything is different.” He swallows. “And for a vampire… different is good.” He frowns, talking more to himself. “Different keeps us alive. Input keeps us alive. ”

Daniel hums. “Probably easier with Netflix now.”

Louis smiles, remembering all the theater and opera visits with Lestat. The dozens of Macbeth performances. “Yes.”

“A propos input…” Daniel looks up into the camera. “I send the filled in questionnaire off as well?”

Louis licks his lips. “That was the deal.” He snorts. “We’re only a few months late.”

Daniel nods slowly, but his voice is vaguely sardonic. “And they still haven’t said why.”

Louis hums. “I am beginning to suspect there are many reasons at play.” He shrugs. “Most of the information they have already due to Sam Barclay being there. And possibly Rashid.” He shakes his head. “I wonder what Rashid does, now.” Who he really is.

Daniel reaches for a cookie, mumbling around a bite. “Probably watching Netflix.”

Louis grins, just a bit, but stares into space, wondering. “You think the Talamasca agents have their own vampires to do their bidding? You said Rashid seemed to know Raglan.”

Daniel snorts, and then starts to cough, as parts of the cookie obviously go down the wrong pipe. He’s red in the face when he answers, the eyes a bit glassy, but his voice only portrays mirth. “What, like a pet vampire?”

Louis grins, and then quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, some vampires serve others?!” He sobers a bit, adding, slowly. “Obviously.”

Daniel is still swallowing compulsively, wiping his eyes. “How does this work? Like eternal… servitude? Is there a structure that has to be kept? Who keeps them in line? Is it only by the rule of strength? The most powerful vampire says what will happen, like a coven leader?”

Louis frowns, pursing his lips. “I am not sure, actually.” He leans back, groaning again. “Ugh, there is so much…” He sighs, shaking his head once. “The Parisian coven definitely thought it fitting that Lestat would… rule us, as you put it. Not that he really did, except maybe at the end, when…” He trails off, inhaling. “But they did think he was fully in his right to do so.”

Daniel weighs his head, still fighting not to cough. “Were you aware of that before the trial?”

Louis scoffs, and opens his mouth to answer, and then hesitates, with a click of his tongue. “I…” He inhales, rolling his shoulders a bit. “I would lie if I said ‘no’.” He swallows, shaking his head once. “Armand had been clear about the mind set of the coven - I had seen them on hunts. I … did not want to realize, I think.” He closes his eyes for a moment, and then lets the ugly guilt that still churns in his stomach go. “At the trial, I was… unsurprised. By the coven, I mean.”

Daniel nods, and then leans back. “Yeah… about that - did you recover any more memories of the dungeon? Where Lestat was? Otherwise I’ll send it off as it is, and…”

Louis quirks a little smile, with some effort, and then shrugs but nods. “Send it off. It’s likely…“ He presses his lips together, for a moment, before exhaling. “It is not the whole truth. It cannot be. It is a version, a version told for a reason.” He hesitates. “Only I doubt this will be able to draw out Lestat this time.” He snorts, drily, telling himself he his not bitter. “This time, it was only to… draw out the truth. To an extent at least.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow. “Facilitate the truth emerging.”

Louis hums. “Yes.” He shrugs. “It will still be a process, but… it will be mine.” He turns his head to look at the gap in the wall. “Not someone else’s.”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “Indeed.” The smallest pause. “I’m curious, Louis, did he…”

Louis looks back at Daniel, knowing the ‘he’ Daniel speaks of. “Show up? Call? Message? Send a letter?” He snorts, with derision. “No.” He inhales, and then pastes a smile on. “The farm is still closed, and there is no reason to assume he would come back, actually.” Louis quirks an eyebrow. “In fact, I could see him return for you, given what we know about the past now.”

Daniel grimaces, obviously more than doubting that. “Nahhh, why would he return for me. He was quite antagonistic towards me?”

Louis hums. “Still, given San Francisco… and the years up to Sausalito…”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “That we still don’t know much about - he could have just hunted me for entertainment.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “You would be dead then.” He shakes his head. “No, there is more to it.”

If only I could remember.

Daniel looks at him, this conversation nothing new, and still touching something raw in them both, something hidden. Hidden well, and still beyond their limits to uncover, to both their annoyance.

Daniel swallows, and then brushes it off: “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

Louis inhales, with a nod. “Yes.” He lifts his eyebrows. “One never knows, maybe this will flush out Armand this time.”

Daniel blinks, and then narrows his eyes at him. “Is that what you want to happen?”

Louis exhales, and then snorts, sobering again. “I don’t know. I want something to happen…” He looks away, at the crack in the wall again. “I want my story to mean something.” He hesitates, and then adds, slowly. “To change something.”

Daniel nods slowly, and then reaches out to hit a button on his computer. A low swooshing sound is audible. Daniel looks up to the camera. “And there it goes.”

Louis blinks, and then breathes in, holding his breath for a moment, before he releases it again, reaching for the word, and then letting it shiver through him, feeling the truth of it.

“Good.”

********

He’s taken to sleep randomly across the bed, the black satin sheets replaced by green and red. There are heaps of books on the floor next to it, books he took from the destroyed library to look through them, see what Armand left him with.

The whips and dog bowls are gone, the art as well. He’s broken down the wooden enclosure himself, the room feeling huge now, but not… like a cage anymore.

When he had broken off the first piece of it he had wondered why he had not realized it before, why it had only seemed… elegant. An elegant frame for their relationship, for the consummation that happened within this room.

But once you see it…

He undulates, stretching, feels the way his muscles shift under his skin. The ceiling is bathed in indirect lighting, golden and low, set to this setting on a whim, and something he can turn on by the flick of a switch now, not the adjustment on an iPad.

That was something he had to do and deliberately, too. The iPads had been Armand’s … territory, his little weakness. And while the ability to use the controls is still there the willingness is missing, the penthouse feeling much more like his, now that electricians have been by, to set defaults, and redirect control.

Louis rolls over onto his stomach, rubbing his face into the blanket, the light stubble catching just slightly. There is an abstract irony to realize that Armand had been fascinated by technology… and had so scoffed at the idea of vampires with hobbies, once upon a time.

At the edge of his vision there is a little glint, and he shifts to look at it, and the origin, the light playing on the rings he put there.

Lestat’s rings, the rings he always thought Lestat would wear when he dreamed of him, found in a little velvet bag in one of the boxes Raglan had brought to him.

Left behind in Sausalito.

Supposedly.

Now they’re sitting there, seemingly harmless, and yet full of meaning, of longing, and… promise.

The more angular one they had purchased together, once upon a time, when Art Nouveau had given way to Art Deco. Three black diamonds, set in yellow gold. The gold had to match the other ring that Lestat usually wore, a more classic one, with a single dark stone, onyx in that one.

Lestat had looked at Louis when they’d seen the ring, had smiled, and said how very well it would match, and that he could afford real diamonds now, of course.

There had been a myriad of things, unsaid.

History, that Louis had thought he could ask more of, later.

History, which had not really mattered, then, in that jeweler’s shop.

Not when Lestat had smiled like that, had turned to talk to Louis in that low, intimate tone that traveled down Louis’ spine, had breathily stated how beautifully the three black diamonds represented their little family.

Black diamonds, not sparkling by day, non, but eternal nonetheless.

God.

Louis swallows, squeezing his eyes shut, the scene of long ago playing on his closed eyelids, in vivid memory.

They had been out for Claudia’s birthday. A chain for a heirloom, an emerald set in an antique silver frame. One of the few possessions Lestat had brought with him, Louis knew that, he had seen the single box. Jewels, clothes. A few letters.

That had been all, apart from the music box.

And all the jewels had been quite old.

Lestat had chosen the emerald early on, had set it aside, had asked Louis if she would like it. He had seemed unsure, lost in memories, responding just a little too late when Louis had asked where he got it. ‘From a marquis’ had been the slow answer.

A marquis which head been beheaded by a mob, 10 years after he had given Lestat that jewel, as Louis had only learned when he had given it to Claudia.

Then, he had thought that maybe Lestat had gotten it for some kind of performance. He claimed to have been an actor after all, even though Louis had some doubts about the level of success he might have had back then, Armand’s story or not.

But after witnessing what the ‘Theatre des Vampires’ had been… Louis had been more than unimpressed, had started to doubt, in retrospect.

The chain for the emerald jewel was found quickly, a white gold chain, in length for a grown woman. Neither of them had thought about that at this point, not really. It had been only Claudia’s comment later which had driven the point home that the chain had been too long. Not fit for her, not really. Another reminder, later, another point on the ever growing list of awareness and resentment.

They had not considered it.

Instead they had gone over the jewelry there, after choosing the chain. Rings, and pocket watches.

There had been something that had sparkled in Lestat’s eyes, as he had gone over the display, something that had less to do with the actual value of it all, and more to do with the beauty of the stones, and the shimmer of craftsmanship displayed.

When they had seen the ring Louis had watched Lestat’s face change, his whole expression shifting with longing, and he had known Lestat would want it.

He had grinned, he remembers that, vividly, remembers how the muscles in his jaw had pulled at the skin.

It had been him, who had reached for it, and, in a moment of mindless purity of emotion, had reached out for Lestat’s hand, and had pushed the ring onto it.

He can still feel the way Lestat had frozen, under his touch.

The way the impression of their breaths ceased.

The way their hearts had stumbled.

Born from an emotion buried deep in Louis’ heart the action had shifted to encapsulate more, to thread through everything, really, unplanned and unanticipated, but meant all the more.

There had been a hiccup to Lestat’s inhale, when he had drawn breath.

His eyes had seemed to swallow Louis up whole.

The longing to kiss him had been a gnawing ache, in his limbs, in his chest, in the pit of Louis’ stomach.

It rises now, once more, the need for their taste, the taste of him and Lestat, on his tongue, in his mouth, in his body… he groans, turning to his back, his heart thundering suddenly, viciously needy, demanding what he has suppressed for so long.

And the recent taste he got… doesn’t help in the slightest.

Back then, he had stepped back, with shaking hands, and a somewhat panicked look to the shop keeper, who had luckily packed away the gift for Claudia, not witnessing Louis more or less… proposing.

The insanity of marrying first, and getting into the fathomless emotional depths of it later.

He cackles, reaching out to press his hands over his face.

He is rock hard, his body already remembering what his mind is refusing to relive, the night that followed forever burned into Louis’ mind, but locked away usually, carefully, tightly, since it carries so much.

So much emotion, so much meaning.

He opens his eyes, in an effort to not go there now, not dissolve into a needy mess, but it is no use, futility distilled, his hand flies out to find the ring, the sensation of the metal against his skin like a ray of sunshine, piercing the fogs of memory.

Lestat had worshipped him that night.

They had sent Claudia to her bed early, for once not making a secret of the why.

Louis’ breath had been short by then already, Claudia’s whispered ‘ewww’ and rolling eyes had not registered.

Lestat had locked the door behind them.

The first orgasm had been both of them, cocks in Lestat’s right hand, firmly, all their clothes still on. Pressed up against the wall next to the wardrobe, open mouths panting, held apart by Louis’ hands on Lestat’s face, Lestat’s left hand fingers pressing into Louis’ neck. Hot breath, desire sky-rocketing, making them light-headed.

Three strokes, that’s all it had taken, three strokes, and a touch of tongue.

Lestat had pressed his mouth over Louis’ when Louis came, had eaten the small wail that had broken free, carried on blinding pleasure.

Lestat had then raised his shaking hand, covered in bloody come, and had licked it off, slowly, all the while locking his eyes with Louis’. Kitten licks, and little breathy moans, and the smell, god the smell.

Louis had let the wall hold him up, had stared, transfixed and starving.

He had been hard again before Lestat’s hand had been clean.

He had pulled Lestat in, by his lapels, when he had pulled his tongue back on the last lick.

The taste, the taste of them had assaulted him, had fused with the smell that was already in his lungs, and his mind. Lestat’s tongue had been gentle, encouraging but slowing, the hum around Louis’ more energetic than the frenzy of before. Stumbled steps, pulled off clothes, while they kept kissing.

And giggling. Noses bumping, a forehead knocking a jaw. A levity that had belied the urgency had made it beautifully serene - love, made light.

Snickers, and then moans, and the butterflies in Louis’ stomach, levity, given flight.

Taking Lestat into his arms when the clothes had finally been gone had been satisfaction.

The whispered ‘Louis’ had torn into his heart, had brought the words onto his tongue, had made it impossible to say them.

He had taken Lestat’s face again into his shaking hands instead, had applied the slightest pressure down.

The world had tilted, with a chuckle, and the satin sheets had matched the fleeting kisses down, down to where he burned again. 

And he had thought Lestat would swallow him down, would take him in, suck him dry.

He had been so ready for it.

He had been wrong.

The kisses had stayed fleeting, had stayed little butterfly touches. Tickling little teases, on every inch of skin. Breathy little sighs, moving in the spaces between Louis’ ribs, and in the hollow of his throat.

It had been torture, of the best kind.

He doesn’t quite remember the kinds of sounds he had made eventually. He remembers being on fire. His skin enflamed, nerves firing. The promise of heat, passing over it, stoking the fire. His throat had been dry, and rough, he remembers that. He remembers aching for a kiss. He remembers his hands clenching in Lestat’s hair, he remembers Lestat refusing to give more than these little pecks to his aching cock, bypassing it with a chuckle to work down to his toes, make Louis squirm and whimper when he had suckled on his toes instead.

But that, too, had been just fleeting, there and gone, and Louis had expected to be turned over onto his stomach, but instead Lestat had worked back up, slowly, methodically, never quite staying long enough for Louis’ increasingly frustrated moans.

At some point, Louis had pulled Lestat’s head up, panting, and with a hiss. “Lestat!”

Lestat had looked up, slowly, with a long blink, and black pupils, his gaze punching right into Louis’ stomach, taking his breath.

His voice had been gravelly beyond the usual range, a low rumble that had made Louis’ cock jump. “Spread your legs.”

Louis had shivered, had held Lestat’s head, over his stomach, over his leaking cock. And had spread his legs. Had watched, as Lestat had bitten off the nail of his fore and middle fingers, had sucked them into his mouth, and then swirled them around in the small puddle of precome on Louis’ stomach.

Louis had spread his legs a bit wider, had waited with bated breath, and a stuck moan, when the pressure had come, the breach, gliding cool heat filling him, not enough, no, not nearly enough, but reaching, and then…

The pressure had been there, just there, gentle, calm, though Lestat’s eyes had been wild.

Breath had been something that had stuck in Louis’ throat, had choked him even, had made reality a bubble around them, a reverberating sheerness that filtered all sound, amplifying the moans.

His muscles had started shaking, the orgasm there, sitting there, just out of reach.

Louis had gasped, when his cock had jumped, and then had started leaking in earnest, a steady flow of precome, Louis’ whole body shaking, held on two stroking fingers, the pleasure held, contained, on a precipice, just before the fall, the scream wrapped in held breath, the molten ball of fire in his gut, his toes curling, back arching, his eyes wide, and blind, blind for anything beyond the fathomless black rimmed in blue, that demanded.

His body had been something else, something not his own, something foreign, yielding, wave after wave, his heart deafening him. In sync, always in sync, the thundering beat passing from Lestat’s fingertips and deep into the pressure inside of him, asking, demanding, screaming for more.

His body had not been able to give more, and still it had.

He remembers that orgasm breaking, in vivid detail, the way Lestat’s fangs had dropped, in sync, slowly, he remembers it slowly, but it must have been in an instant, the way his body had seemed to pull into itself for a moment, in a contraction, a focusing of pleasure so intense it had felt like pain, beautiful, mind-numbing pain.

His mouth had been open, with a silent scream, his back a high arch, off the bed.

The focus had shifted, and then, then it had broken.

And he had come.

Such a simple word, for a moment ripped from the sublime.

Ecstasy, beyond the beating of his heart, beyond the pleasure of first breath, beyond the desire on his tongue.

Louis’ cock pulses, with the memory, and he curses, withdrawing his hand from the ring, reaching down and into his pants with jerky movements, giving himself one, two, three pumps and then he shouts, arching off the bed with the echo and the moment, his cock pulsing in his hand, the pleasure sharp, and quick, and necessary.

Silence, only broken by his shuddering breaths.

He can smell himself, on his hand, on his clothes. On the bed.

He lifts his hand, looking at the bloody come, lowering it again, with a sigh.

His body is thrumming, remembering the rest of the night, the way Lestat had taken him apart even more, had laid down his devotion for Louis to take, as he had taken him, slowly, Louis clawing at his back, spurning him on, asking for more. More.

Give me more.

That night had not ended with dawn.

Louis vividly remembers the last orgasm they had shared that night, too, the way Lestat had arched up, throwing himself back, riding him with abandon.

The clock on the wall framing his face distorted with the pleasure hitting had shown 10am. 10am and 14 minutes.

Not a particularly significant time.

Just the time that he had reached up, and had pulled Lestat down, to sink his teeth, into ecstasy, into the love that had been flowing wild and free that night.

That day.

Louis’ left hand fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, wrap them around Lestat’s cock, as they had been back then. His own cock twitches, too, and he snorts, turning onto his side with a sigh, narrowly avoiding the mess he made.

He knows he will regret it if he falls asleep like this.

But right now, he does not care.

*******

Louis curses quietly, cursing his past self, while he strips down the bed, throwing the sheets away after quick inspection. Not only did he come all over them, no he managed to rip them, too, something he does not quite remember.

But he must have clawed into the fabric with his nails, obviously.

At least the sheets do not stick to his skin like his clothes did before he had to almost rip them off for the shower.

He shakes the bedsheets out, the motion touching the rings on the bedside table, making them move along the surface, just a little bit.

Louis cannot quite say why, but he walks over, and puts them on.

They look foreign and weird on him, just a little too big on his fingers and not his style, and he knows with certainty that he will not wear them for long.

But now, for now, for here and now… they’re his.

Because… they are his.

And Louis nods to himself, and then gets new sheets from the closet.

******

The chain pools in his palm, his fingertips holding the silver frame with the big emerald, the light playing off it, making it sparkle, in a way that feels lush.

Claudia had taken a lot of jewelry from her victims, then. Had sold it, too.

He is not sure how this one survived, the sentimental value of it nothing Claudia valued at certain points of her existence at least after all.

Maybe there is a story to this, maybe not.

He is not sure, and ultimately he does not care, not anymore.

It’s still there, here, now, and that is all that matters.

And as he puts it away in a drawer in the bedroom he is sure that it will important again, some day. It’s there, an awareness, a truth, sitting in the pit of his stomach.

He inhales, and then steps back, alone in the big room, and he feels good.

Chapter Text

It’s spring in New Orleans, and the air is filled with the scent of blossoms, and hope.

Louis is back in town, to oversee the renovations, to meet with Christine, and to take photos of the moon over Bourbon Street.

Digital photos now, taken with a small but very expensive camera, reducing the need to stand still for enough light to a bare minimum. He likes taking photos with it, some of the joy has come back, even though he does not develop them physically anymore, only looks at them on his screen at times, looks for that spark in them, the spark that had once been noted as not quite there.

The ‘eye’, as it were.

He is wandering down Royal Street, for him always Rue Royale, taking snapshots of illuminated houses in the reflection of the puddles left behind by the earlier gentle rain, smiling at people milling about, who see him too late, and step into the puddles, distorting the picture.

It’s a nice evening tonight, he has fed, and Christine has called him to confirm their meeting for the next evening. Such a nice evening, and the Talamasca have called, and said how very well the editing comes along, and if Louis still wants the few items they have in their possession?

Louis actually doubts it that they would give up anything significant, but he has declined after a short consideration, with the caveat of thinking about it and maybe returning to it later. Maybe. Some day. Please keep them in your care for now. Pretty please and… thank you.

He is not above using the Talamasca for storage, since they… insisted.

He reaches for the feeling that connects him with Lestat, the tranquil roiling of something, under his skin, in his heart.

A drop of water drips from the iron shutters of Rue Royale 1132, and he catches the light breaking on the edge of it, just as it falls.

Maybe, if that one turns out well he’ll print that one out. Maybe.

A sudden presence, and then… a heartbeat.

Another vampiric heartbeat.

A heartbeat he knows, has listened to, for decades.

Louis fingers clench in the iron wrought gate, hesitating to pull it open.

There is a resistance in him, a resistance which halts his feet, which freezes him to the spot.

It resembles fear, but then again not, because there is anger, too, and resentment.

He can see the shadow the moon casts for the visitor falling over the spot where Lestat is buried, in the probably very wet earth.

He swallows, forcing himself to enter the driveway, the gate giving way silently, the hinges obviously freshly oiled. The short walk feels like a dream, the moment he comes into Loui’s view surreal, a moment taken out of someone else’s mind, maybe.

Armand blinks up at him, hands loosely in the jacket he wears, jeans and boots worn but clean, the outfit making him seem young, so very young. His hair is messy, wind-swept and Louis realizes he must have flown here, must have dropped down, to land here, in this precise spot.

Here, now.

Not a coincidence then.

He clears his throat, trying to reach for the version of him that wielded those whips, that commanded, so easily, but it seems unreachable, a dream in itself, destroyed by reality.

There is a small smile now on Armand’s face, the large eyes fixed on Louis, probably reading his thoughts. Louis tries to be annoyed about that, but his feelings towards Armand have changed already, have cooled, enough to understand some things at least. To realize others, as well.

To give distance.

It’s a cold heat now, more calculating, and easier to handle, too.

Armand lifts his eyebrows, lowers his gaze for just a moment, before he lifts his head to look up at the sky.

His voice is deceptively light, almost genial. “This is where he flew you up into the sky…”, his eyes come down, find Louis’, lock. “And dropped you.”

Louis inhales, calmly, slowly, deliberately, and then exhales, counting the beats of his and Lestat’s heart. Four. Five. Six. “Yes.” He pastes a smile on. “Your point?” He tilts his head, extends a hand, taking one step closer. “I mean, you knew that.” He hesitates, and then adds, voice low, but hard, emphasizing heavily. “I knew that.” He lets the smile widen, lets dark humor flood him. “You leveraged it at the trial.”

“Ah.” Armand looks to the side, with a weird undertone to his voice. “Leveraged. I merely…”

Louis interrupts, not in the mood for games, feeling the sarcasm drip off his tongue. “Made sure it stuck?”

Armand hums, nodding once, before he looks back at Louis. “Santiago was right, but you know that. It was not to kill you.”

Louis takes another step closer, his finger twitching. “Your point.”

The muscle in Armand’s jaw twitches, and then he nods, once, turning his head to look at the patch of earth Lestat lies under. “He lies in the place you dropped to.”

Louis blinks, and then looks at the earth, and then swallows, lying, and badly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Armand flashes a smile, nodding again, before he walks two steps away, to the stairs up, his hand tracing the handle for a moment.

His voice sounds forlorn. “This place reeks of your history with him.” His eyes flicker to the gateway at the end of the property, at the patch of grass that still looks a bit more yellowish than the rest. “This must have been where the incinerator stood.”

Louis closes his eyes, counts another 10 heartbeats, before he opens them again. “What do you want, Armand. Why are you here?”

Armand blinks, lifting his chin. “Is it easy, Louis, to speak my name?”

Louis swallows, his voice rough. “No.”

Armand nods, shadows of sadness passing over his face. “Something remains at least.”

Louis frowns, and Armand sighs, letting go of the handle, to step up to Louis, halting two steps away. He quirks an eyebrow. “I heard… you told your story to the Talamasca.”

Louis narrows his eyes, taken aback and weirdly amused. “That cannot come as a surprise?” His frown deepens, despite the smile that wants to tug at his lips. “Hell, our servants worked for them. Sam fucking Barclay worked for them, as you may remember. Still does! Don’t tell me you want to put the genie back into the bottle now?”

Armand purses his lips, and then shakes his head. “No, what is done is done.” He frowns, lightly. “It is your version of events - your version, which will now become their version.” He blinks, his gaze faraway, the amber eyes dim. “One day maybe I will give my own version.” He hesitates, and then smiles, just a bit, his voice almost neutral. “How’s Daniel?”

Louis scoffs, hearing the undertone just fine. “How is Daniel?!?” He cackles, eyes flashing. “Daniel is jus’ fine.” He narrows his eyes. “Fareed’s medicine seems to be taking, no thanks to you.”

Armand looks at him, almost passively. “No thanks to me?”

Louis weighs his head, the tone biting now. “The farm, the refrigerator, the library, the basement… ring a bell?”

“Ah.” Armand shrugs, sounding so very innocent. “You had commanded me to leave. I left.”

Louis nods, slowly, tone low and yet cutting. “Oh you left alright. You left me a shrine.”

He watches Armand flinch, just a bit, a motion almost impossible to notice, but he has had time to study Armand hasn’t he. He can see now.

Armand clicks his tongue. “A place of meditation, nothing more.”

Louis purses his lips, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sure. A place to stare at something belonging to Lestat for hours, at a music box playing a song he wrote for someone you said he did not care about.” He runs his tongue along his teeth, tilting his head. “How often did you play it, hmm?” He steps closer when Armand does not answer, his gaze hooded, and turned inwards. “How often did you hear it while Lestat was still at the theater? How often…”

Armand interrupts him, voice calm, low, and devoid any feeling, too light, only serving to illuminate the chasm of pain that it hides. “I gave it to him.”

Louis stops, in his tracks.

He needs three tries to press the word out, his voice high with incredulity. “Wh… w… What?”

Armand smiles, without any humor, tone carrying something Louis cannot place. “It was a melody he wrote for Nicolas, our dearest violinist.” Armand’s eyes flicker to the ground, seem to look into the earth, and at Lestat. “A boy he once knew, you said. A mortal lover he took, I said.” Armand lifts his head, his eyes returning to Louis’, with a challenge. “Both are true, and both only hide the impact of Nicolas.”

Louis swallows, shifting to his other foot, swallowing down the questions that want to rise.

Armand inhales, looking away again. “Nicolas de Lenfent. His second fledgling, made in a rather short span of time.”

Louis swallows again, his voice gruff. “The first was Ga… his mother?”

Armand blinks, very slowly. “So you know.” He huffs, continuing, not waiting for an answer. “Yes. Turning Nicolas was not quite the successful endeavor it was as turning her though…”

Louis blinks, remembering his own words, calling himself a failure. Lestat’s face.

He inhales, deeply. “What happened?”

Armand hesitates, and then purses his lips. “I will only say now that there was a darkness in Nicolas which drove him towards madness. I knew it, and even Lestat knew it. He left Nicolas with me.”

Louis frowns, deeply. “And you had the music box made…?” He does not finish the question, not sure how to finish it. …because you felt pity? …because you wanted him to remember? …so he would have something to remember him by? …because you liked the melody? …why? None of these feel fitting, not really.

Armand’s eyes flicker away, for a moment. “It was a message.” He exhales, nodding to himself. “And an apology.”

Louis stares at him, remembering his discussion with Daniel about the dates. About the Talamasca notes.

He tries not to let his voice shiver. “You are responsible for his death?”

Armand’s eyebrows rise, just a little bit. “In a way. He was a damaged vampire. It was my duty as coven master.”

Louis inhales a shaking breath, remembering Armand’s words about Claudia, in the tunnels. His absolute conviction that she would not last.

He whispers the words. “Master over life and death…”

Armand does not react, his expression neutral. “Yes.” He shrugs. “I kept New Orleans clean for you.”

Louis blinks, some anger resurfacing. “I do not believe I asked you for that.”

Armand smiles, just a little bit. “Maybe not. But I…” The smile turns forlorn and hard at the same time, underlaid with dejected pain. “…keep you safe even when he doesn’t.”

Louis’ nostrils flare, the anger like acid on his tongue. “By editing my mind. By locking me in a prison of empathy, as you called it. By wanting to kill me on stage.” He locks eyes with Armand, stepping up to him, slowly, until they’re inches apart. “By starving me to death.”

Armand flinches, just a bit.

Louis smiles, without any humor. “I should have realized myself, but I had to have Sam Barclay spell it out. I should have realized Lestat, so near, would have felt me starve. Would have felt me go mad with hunger.” He swallows, voice scratching in his throat. “I should have realized that someone, who you said loves me ‘a great deal’…” His voice breaks, the emotions catching up with him. “I should have realized that he would not have let me die then. Not after what he did at the theater. Not after… ” He snorts, bitterly. “I mean, I only realize it all now that I remember, and there seems to be chunks missing still,”, he hesitates, and then emphasizes heavily, watching Armand flinch again, almost imperceptibly, “and the dungeon encounter seems wrong somehow as well…” He hums, nodding to himself, continuing watching Armand like a hawk. “But going over the interview with Daniel has made clear that I still don’t know the truth. Oh, it is more nuanced. Lestat was an ass, more times than I can count, too, and that seems very much on brand.”

He watches Armand smile involuntarily, just a bit, and smiles himself, viciously. “But some things just don’t fit together. The picture in my head…” He lifts his hand, touches his left temple with his left hand fingers, narrowing his eyes. “That picture does not fit with my experiences, my emotions, or the fragments that keep resurfacing.” He lowers his hand, the tone final. “It just doesn’t.”

He steps back, turning away a bit, shooting Armand a look from the corner of his eyes. “And I know the distorted parts are memory and… you.” He hums, when he sees Armand look away again. “You, tinkering with my mind.” He smiles again, without any humor. “And I am wondering… is it, this distorted picture, is that because you don’t know anymore how it feels?”

There is a small pause, and then Armand’s voice, the question clear in the tone. “How does what feel?”

Louis turns to face him, voice calm but hard. “The bond. The vampire bond.”

Armand frowns, stepping forward to face Louis once more. “I don’t understand.”

Louis lifts his chin. “Marius. Your connection to him. You have been apart for so long you don’t remember what it feels like.” He does not wait for an answer, stepping up to Armand who is staring at him, with wide eyes. He lifts his hand, underlining his words. “The cult you were in brainwashed you for so long you only have them and their rules for reference. You would never break their rules despite them being imposed on you.”

Armand inhales shudderingly, and Louis scoffs, nodding sideways, to indicate the city, continuing without waiting for an answer. “Like that ‘cleaning up’. You say you keep me safe, but I don’t need safe keeping. You cleaned up because culling the weak was your assigned job.” He spits the word out, watching it hit, watching Armand flinch, something in Armand’s eyes shifting with despair. “You have not found a way out of the self-imposed cage, and you tried to keep me entrapped in it, with you.”

His voice is shaking at the end and he closes his eyes, counting heartbeats again, until he does not feel light headed anymore.

He reopens his eyes after a moment, to look at Armand, who stands before him, looking deceptively like a scolded school boy, impossibly small despite him being taller than Louis.

Louis lifts his finger, pointing it, but his voice lacks the anger now, only carries exhaustion, and realization. “You’re still trapped in your own cage. And you are the only one who can destroy it.”

Silence.

Down below, Lestat’s heartbeat comes, slow, and even.

Louis is glad for it, matching the rushing in his ears to it, deliberately.

The wind carries the breeze of flowers into the yard, ruffles Armand’s hair.

For a long moment, there is nothing, no history, no future, just them, and what they were.

And were not.

Armand’s voice draws Louis out of his thoughts, slowly, a feathery touch of sound. “You’re wearing his rings.”

Louis blinks, looking down at the hand that is still pointed, still carries energy.

He swallows, shaking his head once. “Why…” He shakes his head again, once more. “Why had you taken the rings? And why were they in Sausalito?”

Armand lifts his eyebrows, his tone unsurprised, carrying a vague disappointment. “You don’t remember.”

Louis smiles at him, bitingly. “No, your work has been too good.”

Armand blinks, something entering his tone that Louis cannot place. “My work.”

Louis frowns, staring at him, something stirring, deep within him, but it is gone again before he can grasp it.

He inhales. “You said I asked for my memories to be removed.”

Armand lifts his chin, just a bit. “You did.”

Louis works his jaw. “I really cannot imagine.”

There is a faint smile on Armand’s lips, though his eyes look tired, and sad. “You will have to believe me.”

Louis swallows, grimacing, and then shakes his head once, waving at the earth below.

His voice is gruff, and he feels like it, too. “Why did you tell him I was dead?”

“Because all things considered - you were.” Armand blinks up, his voice flat, without any emotion. “Dead to me. Dead to the world. I thought… I believed Daniel would chronicle your suicide.” His eyes come up, to find Louis’, open, vulnerable. “I thought you would be dead by now, or soon.”

Something clicks into place, takes all remaining anger, and all remaining breath.

Forces itself up, in words that feel like hooks, pulling at Louis’ flesh. “You thought it would be a chance to rouse him.”

Armand blinks, his eyes lowering, his whole countenance falling in on himself, and he seems to be even smaller suddenly, helpless and innocent. “I hoped.”

Louis cackles, his voice brittle.

He points into the general direction of the Moss House, vaguely north. “He was here, the whole time.” His hand lowers, points at the ground. “And he is here now.” He swallows. “Why don’t you … dig him up? Or speak to him, hmm? Like then, in San Francisco? Why don’t you relay his messages?”

Armand quirks and eyebrow, and then shrugs, vaguely petulantly. “I tried. He’s dreaming.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, resisting the urge to demand to know why Armand doesn’t just dig Lestat up, not in the mood to face why he himself isn’t, shaking his head. “And then, what. I was dead or suicidal, you had him roused… what was the plan, Armand?”

There is no answer, Armand’s face a mask of hidden pain, bleeding through the cracks.

Louis lifts his hands after a moment, hides his face behind them, with a groan.

He cackles suddenly, spreading his fingers to look through them at Armand. “And to think, all this time, you never told me of his mother.”

Louis watches as Armand freezes for a split second, as something dark shivers over his face, and then settles into a hint of annoyance. His voice is cold. “What about her.”

Louis runs the tip of his tongue over his left fang, just the tiniest bit dropped, feeling the tip dig in.

He smiles, lowering his hands. “His first fledgling. His mother. Gabrielle.” He nods to himself, watching the way Armand does not quite look at him. “You’d think that in a relationship that went on for what, 70 years?, that you’d mention her at some point… given you did tell me that tale of Nicolas and him.” He pauses for a split second, lets the sarcasm color his voice a bit. “And you and him, of course.”

Armand’s eyes flicker up, and then away again. His whole countenance is bleeding annoyance, and aggravation, but Louis knows, he just knows it is not directed at him, not really. Which in turn makes Louis’ heart beat faster, in thorough, bleak and yet almost depraved enjoyment. “She must have been there, when you met. She must have been there when he turned Nicolas.”

Armand turns his head away, inhaling deeply.

His voice is flat. “She was.”

Louis’ fangs drop, just a little bit further. “What happened?”

Armand looks back at him, the amber eyes neutral, almost calculating, but driven by sadness. “If he wakes up he can tell you. I am in no mood to talk about Gabrielle de Lioncourt.” He spits the name out, and then turns away, just a bit.

Louis hums. “That good, huh.” He lifts his eyebrows. “And it’s ‘when’ he wakes up.”

Armand shoots him a look that seems to smolder, freely indicating anger for once.

He grates the word out. “When.”

They stare at each other, for a long moment, and then Armand turns away suddenly, stepping towards the back garden door.

He halts, almost at the exit of their yard, tilting his head to speak over his right shoulder. “The room was no shrine.”

Louis frowns, taking a moment to catch up with the sudden change of subject. “No? What was it then?”

He can see Armand’s nostrils flare on a deep and deliberate breath. “A space for contemplation.”

Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. No shit. “Of what?” He tilts his head, just a bit, lets the sarcasm flow freely. “Your origins?”

Armand exhales, and inclines his head, before he looks back at Louis from the corner of his eyes, his bright eyes dark nonetheless. “No. Ours.”

And he is gone, leaving Louis standing there, with that statement, and the questions it rouses immediately, staring at the patch of grass, that has barely been dented by Armand’s weight.

And Lestat’s heart beats, evenly, slowly, like a drum.

******

“Christine, so nice to meet you again!

“Mr. Du Lac, a pleasure. How was your trip?”

Christine smiles politely at him, her mind very focused on the task at hand. There is the flicker of something else, a yearning for her bathtub and some wine at home, and the awareness of him, but other than that she is all business, as usual.

Louis smiles back, while he takes his seat. “It was comfortable. I have been by Rue Royale, the renovations are coming along nicely.”

Christine nods, while taking her seat behind her desk. “Yes, the means provided ensured a speedy and successful renovation so far. There are only the upcoming furniture decisions you should maybe talk over with the interior designer.”

Louis blinks, vaguely surprised. “I have an interior designer here?”

Christine laughs softly. “Mr. Du Lac, your trust in me is very flattering, but I am a lawyer, not a renovation specialist, nor do my strengths lie with the acquisition of furniture, I am afraid.” Her smile widens, part amused, part apologetic, just a bit. “I called my interior designer, and luckily he was available and very happy to take the job.”

Louis smirks. “I see.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, from what I could see he has indeed done a good job so far.” He hesitates. “What is the remaining timeframe?”

Christine pulls up a folder, opening it to take out a list. “From what I can see the bathroom has been installed beyond the room it was in before, in what used to be the former servants quarters. The kitchen downstairs has been made smaller with only a perfunctory unit in steel to make room for large walk in closets, while the wine cellar has been closed and filled up. The entrance has been walled up.” She lifts her eyebrows. “That concludes the bigger changes. All the floors have been sanded down and coated again. The walls...” She frowns, and then looks at him. “The walls have to be decorated yet, if you wish for wallpaper, else they could stay as they are now, which is whitewashed.”

Louis purses his lips. “I believe I will choose wallpaper, to go with the furniture…” He blinks. “So Rue Royale is ready to be moved in again?”

Christine also purses her lips, flipping through the papers. “Central heating is working, so are the fire places. Electricity and water are already connected as requested.” She shrugs, lightly. “If you want a land line for telephone, that is something that still needs to be done, and the locks are still the old ones as well, as you know.”

Louis grins, for a moment. “The locks are not important.”

They share a long look, and then Christine sits up, with the smallest smirk, turning to her screen, reaching for the keyboard to type something.

She lifts her eyebrows. “Jake…” She shoots Louis a look. “My interior designer…” She looks at the screen again, the reflection making her eyes look otherworldly. “He can be by on Wednesday evening. He sent me an email earlier, with possible dates. Should I confirm and send you his number?”

Louis nods. “Please do.” He hesitates, and then clicks his tongue, voice conveying his seriousness. “Thank you for your work, Christine. It is very much appreciated.”

Christine inclines her head in thanks. “My pleasure, Mr. Du Lac.” There is a beat, the smallest hesitation, and then she asks him, her eyes on his, but reserved. “Do you happen to know when Mr. De Lioncourt will reach out to us the next time?”

Louis swallows, pasting a smile on. “I am afraid I do not.” He shakes his head once. “Is it something specific you need? Maybe I can …”

Christine laughs, obviously a bit embarrassed, shaking her head. “No. It is just…” She inhales. “I would like to take a longer vacation, and maybe if you do not need me for a while it might be good to do so now, while I have not gotten any new requests by the De Lioncourt family.”

“Ah.” Louis closes his eyes, for a split second. “Yes, now is a good time.” He nods, and then smiles again, a bit more honestly, though he cannot keep the undertone from his words. “I will… care for Mr. De Lioncourt junior’s needs until your return, should he have any.”

Christine clears her throat, just a bit, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Louis grins at her. “You go on vacation. Relax. Gather energy.” He cackles, shaking his head once, the smile broad and true now. “Trust me, when Mr. De Lioncourt junior is there you’ll know it. And need it.”

Christine smirks, with an exhale. “I have no doubt about it.”

She hesitates, and then closes the folder, looking at Louis for a long moment before she stands up, extending her hand to Louis. “Mr. Du Lac.”

Louis nods, getting up slowly, taking her warm soft hand in both of his, with a smile. “Ms. Claire.”

She silently offers him the folder and he takes it, with another nod, the words “Rue Royale” on the label making him smile.

He looks at her, before he turns away, listening in on her thoughts for a moment, the image of the bathtub much more prominent now. And the longing for a Chardonnay.

He grins, stepping towards the exit, throwing the words back over his shoulder. “You should take some buttered popcorn with the Chardonnay.” He looks back with a wink, catching her suddenly very alert gaze. “I heard it fits perfectly.”

He grins, turning away, the resulting feeling of using the dark gifts for more or less harmless fun a delightful rush.

He inhales, basking in it, the wistfulness of what was and why, and who he was seeming far away.

This, this feels much better now.

Much more like it should be.

He exhales, watching his own expression as he enters the elevator, the mirrored wall throwing back his smile. A flash of memory, of Lestat looking at him, and telling him that his purpose on this Earth was to enjoy himself.

Somewhere deep within, the catholic guilt rears its head, and then goes back to sleep, starved and ignored, as the elevator doors close.

And Louis smiles at himself in the mirror, fangs fully extended.

Chapter Text

Louis smirks, waiting for the elevator doors to the apartment to open, listening to the beat of the mortal heart approaching.

The doors ping, and the elevator doors glide open slowly, revealing ‘Jake’, who looks somewhat impressed, and is obviously trying to hide it, rather unsuccessfully.

Louis smiles broadly. “Jake. So nice of you to come to Dubai.” He extends his hand, stepping back. “How was the trip?”

Jake weighs his head, the voice colored by a small laugh. “Well, I really should not get used to private planes… almost too nice.” His eyes flicker around the hallway, the open doorways. His hand tightens on the strap that holds his backpack, his other pulling up the small luggage trolley he’s been dragging behind. “This place is something else, alright.” He turns a bit on the spot, letting the trolley stand to take off his sunglasses. “Extremely spacious, and well lit, but also feeling oppressive, which was surely intentional when the floorpan was created.”

He starts forward, not waiting for Louis, who follows, rather bemused. “Granite walls, granite floors, almost no color.” He sticks his head into the living room, then steps over, to the dining room, looking into it as well. “There seems to be paintings missing, going by the mounts, but I would guess those were not overly colorful as well?”

He shoots Louis a look, but doesn’t wait for an answer, going further into the apartment, seemingly muttering to himself. “The indirect lighting is on, LEDs of course, but the sun is up outside, it should be so light in here, but it isn’t.” He halts at the entrance doorway to the library, looking inside. “Interesting spot of light you got there though.”

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah, that…” He hesitates, feeling the flesh around the stones in his ankles pulse for a moment. “I want to keep that one.”

Jake turns to look at him, and then shrugs, moving on.

Louis follows, glad that he decided to invite Jake after the very pleasant interactions they had in New Orleans, where they went through furnishing houses after furnishing houses, Jake’s dry humor and matter of fact attitude quite the relief, and making the refurbishing of Rue Royal a breeze.

He clicks his tongue. “I think the bedroom needs the most… renovation.”

Jake halts, looks at him, and then steps into the bedroom.

There is a pause, and then the question comes, as anticipated, Jake coming back into the hallway with a puzzled look on his face. “What is the remains of that wooden structure?”

Louis hums, hesitating, wondering if he should make it into something it wasn’t, but not in the mood. “A wooden cage around the lowered area.” He pastes a smile on. “I broke it into pieces.”

Jake blinks, turning to look into the room, his dark eyebrows, lifted. “And you left the remains of it?”

Louis hums, quoting her, his voice faraway. “Sometimes… You leave the damage, so you don’t forget the damage.”

Jake nods once. “But you want to get rid of the damage now?”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Yes.” He swallows, inhaling deeply. “It is time.”

Jake looks at him. “You are not going to live at Rue Royale?”

Louis hesitates, and then exhales, feeling his stomach churn. “Oh, I will.” He nods, reaching for the truth in himself on the matter. “I just don’t… know how frequently or when yet.” He swallows, smiling defiantly at Jake.

Who just hums. “I see.”

Louis inhales, and then shoves his hands into his pants pockets, waiting until Jake finishes his ‘tour’. He likes Jake. Jake is… blunt. Practical. Knows what he’s doing. No skirting around problems, just acknowledgment and solution.

A balm for Louis’ nerves.

He lifts his eyebrows, when Jake comes towards him after a few more minutes, quirking an eyebrow. “So. What’s the verdict?”

Jake frowns, coming to a halt in front of him. “Not much to be done about the layout itself, if you don’t want to rebuild that is. But you need colors.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Yes, I do.” He hesitates. “Anything else?”

Jake lifts his arm, points his thumb backwards. “That bedroom is creepy as fuck.”

Louis snorts, lifting his own hand to hide his smile, unsuccessfully. “… Okay?”

Jake shakes his head. “Yeah, it looks like a brothel. High class, but also over the top, centered on the action on or in the bed.” He shrugs, suddenly vaguely apologetic. “I mean, if you like it…”

Louis purses his lips. “No, no, it’s… fine.” He clicks his tongue. “I brought you here because I want your honest opinion.” He cackles. “And I want a new bedroom.”

He nods towards the living room. “I want the sun in there.” He licks his lips, shaking his head once. “Literally and figuratively. Colors, impression. Feeling.” He inhales. “I have…” He hesitates, feeling for the pain to come, letting it run its course, before he continues. “I have a few items and paintings that need to be hung, that need to find their place. One of them…” He swallows, pushing the words through the sudden constriction. “One of them is a yellow dress.” He inhales, turning to face Jake. “I want that color, in various shades of course, but that color as basis.” He nods to himself. “Build on it. Get furniture that matches, that enhances.”

Jake nods, his eyes flickering around the apartment and hallway. “You want to keep the walls themselves?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, looking at the walls for a moment. “Yes. Just… furniture. Art. Lamps, pillows and so on.” He hesitates, and then adds, slowly. “As weird as it may seem, but I need the structure of what was to stay.” He inhales, deeply. “Just as I needed Rue Royale to be a mix of what was and what is.” What might be. “This… this apartment needs to feel different, while staying the same.”

Jake exhales, and then shrugs. “Alright. Time frame?”

Louis lifts his head. “Would six months suffice?”

Jake lets out a bit of a surprised laugh. “I can’t stay here for six months… I thought more about, like, 6 weeks?”

Louis shrugs. “As you wish. I have rented you a suite at a hotel nearby. The pay will be for six months, no matter how much time you will need. Board and lodging included of course.”

Jake blinks, swallowing. “That’s… generous.”

Louis reaches out, to squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey his sincerity. “A small price to pay for an actual… home.”

*******

“So I hear you met Armand the other night.”

Louis huffs a laugh, shaking his head, guessing correctly. “God works fast, the Talamasca work faster?”

Daniel’s cackle on the other side of the line is dry. “Something like that.” There is the slightest pause, and then his voice dripping with sarcasm - and something else, something Louis cannot quite place. “Raglan came by to drop that little bit of information in the middle of a totally unimportant chat, probably waiting for my reaction.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, nodding to himself. “How did you react?”

Daniel hesitates for a moment. “I… well, I told him I would appreciate him not showing up that late at my apartment again. Which prompted him to invite me for dinner.”

Louis blinks. Oh? “Did you accept?”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “I did.”

Louis narrows his eyes, staring unseeing into his apartment, a small smile on his lips. “And?”

Daniel’s voice is a bit gruff. “And it has not happened yet.”

Louis hums. “I see.”

He can hear Daniel roll his eyes.

Louis waits until Daniel speaks again, growing more amused by the second.

Eventually Daniel clears his throat. “So. What did Armand say?”

“Ahhhh.” Louis grimaces a bit, running a hand down over his face. “Well, for one… he admitted to leaving Gabrielle out of the tale he spun of his meeting with Lestat. So it is good that we left that out of the interview we submitted to the Talamasca.”

“And?” Daniel sounds very unsurprised, which grates a bit, if Louis is honest.

“And… he said he gave the music box to Lestat.”

There is the slightest pause. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? You yourself said that the flee circus was something he gifted to Claudia, opened that connection.”

Louis looks up, at the ceiling, rolling his shoulders. “Yes, but to hear it… and you cannot know how it felt to see it, sitting there, in this room downstairs. Imagine sitting him there, listening to it.” He shakes his head. “This box, which had been in my home with Lestat, for decades, just sitting there…”

Daniel’s voice is dry. “If you didn’t know better you’d say he’s even more obsessed with him than you are?”

Louis smiles, a bit viciously. “I am not obsessed.”

“If you say so Louis.” Daniel’s voice carries humor. “What did Armand say? It always circles back to him?”

Louis scoffs, the words to deny it on the tip of his tongue, but they won’t spill, heavy and uncomfortable, until he swallows them down, voice gruff. “Yeah, well.”

He clears his throat. “He also asked about you.”

Daniel sounds a bit surprised. “Me?”

Louis hums. “Yes, he wanted to know if you’re alright.”

Daniel scoffs. “How nice of him to care…”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Well, we still do not remember Sausalito. Or the timeframe leading up to it.”

“Which is weird, isn’t it?” Daniel’s voice carries annoyance - and interest. “I mean, we went to see therapists, we even agreed to let the Talamasca try to remove the memory block… but it seems too strong.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, remembering Raglan’s monotonous voice well. The way he had seemed so honestly apologetic after. “It does beg the question as to why we were able to jog our memory in San Francisco… but not for that timeframe.”

“Indeed.” There is something Daniel does not say, carried on his tone.

“What.” Louis cannot keep his own, vague annoyance from his voice.

Daniel laughs softly. “It’s just…” He hesitates, sighing. “How do we know it was actually him? Maybe we’re trying the wrong way?”

Louis blinks, and then scoffs. “Like, you’re suggesting someone else removed our memories?”

Daniel sounds just a tad defensive. “Think about it, Louis. The way Armand behaved in Dubai. The way he would react to me. The way he would react to you questioning it.”

Louis frowns, remembering how Armand had looked, when he had repeated ‘My work’. “That’s… circumstantial at best.”

There is a hint of annoyance now. “Circumstantial is all we have. And don’t tell me the thought never crossed your mind.”

Louis closes his eyes, refusing the impulse to end the call.

There is something that stirs, something that has to do with who and what he is, and what may be known.

What may be known.

An echo, of something, in his mind. A different voice, a different heartbeat.

Cut off hair, falling to the ground.

His temples pulse.

He reaches up, with a shaking hand, rubs his forehead. “I… don’t see how we can make progress there though. I mean we tried?”

“Yeah.” Daniel sounds a bit frustrated. “And the more we tried, the more it seemed to slip away.”

Louis nods to himself. “Armand reiterated that I asked for the memories to be removed, which…” He cackles, shaking his head once. “Which really does not sit well with me.” He inhales, deeply. “What could have possibly persuaded me, made me think that I would want that?”

Daniel hums. “But you believe him?”

Louis grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “I do.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why, after all that happened, but… I do.”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “He probably has no incentive to lie anymore… and I bet that transmits.”

Louis opens his eyes again, slowly. “Yeah. Probably.” He sighs, turning on the spot to look at the empty living room, the furniture having been picked up and removed the other day. “He still wasn’t particularly forthcoming.”

Daniel snorts. “Nothing new there, then.” He sighs, and then the tone changes, just a bit. “So, what happens now?”

Louis exhales, through his nose. “You said we would need to wait for the Talamasca to publish.”

Daniel hums. “Yes. That may take some time.” The tiniest pause. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

Louis turns a bit more, looks at the crack in the wall.

He touches the tip of his tongue to his front teeth, answering slowly. “Find a piece of art which… can shield the cracks.”

Daniel seems to catch on immediately. “Keep them, but healed?”

Louis steps up to the granite wall, slowly, reaching out to touch the cracks, run his finger along the broken stone. “Rebranded.” He nods to himself. “Yes.” He frowns, stepping back. “When will I hear from you again?”

Daniel exhales, shuffling some papers. “As soon as all the editing on their side is done. Which might take a while. I’ll definitely send you a copy once it’s done though.”

Louis nods, but needs to push nonetheless. “How long is a while?”

Daniel cackles. “Louis, normal book releases take up to two years. This…” He sighs, deeply. “This, will definitely take that time, is my gut feeling.” His voice turns vaguely sardonic. “But what is two years to a vampire, right.”

Louis smiles, just a bit. “Right.”

“A propos vampire.” Daniel’s voice shifts a bit, takes on a note Louis cannot place. “Think the Talamasca sent someone to spy on me?”

Louis blinks, staring unseeing into space. “You mean outside of Raglan inviting you to dates? And Raglan obviously having some kind of authority over Rashid and Sam Barclay?”

Daniel cackles. “Yeah, outside of that.”

Louis pulls a face. “Why would they?”

Daniel sighs, deeply. “I don’t know, just a feeling. Something tickling my senses. I cannot place it.”

Louis frowns, vaguely unsettled. “You want me to come by?”

Daniel hesitates, but when he replies his voice is firm. “Naahhhh. I mean, if someone wanted me dead, they could have had that a lot more easily, right?”

Louis nods, slowly, but grimaces. “Right.”

Daniel continues, his voice carrying some humor. “Besides, if they wanted to stop me from writing the book they’re too late. So what’s left?”

Louis purses his lips, he wonders if Armand... “Still. If you… need something do call.”

Daniel exhales. “I have everything I need right now. Money, time, health…” He cackles. “And a date, as you called it.”

Louis smirks, unable to keep the humor from his voice. “Wouldn’t you?”

Daniel hums, and then groans, obviously rubbing his face. “Ah, I don’t know Louis. It’s…”

He trails off and Louis waits a moment, until he finishes the sentence for Daniel. “Complicated?”

Daniel clicks his tongue. “Yeah. That.” There is a pause, Daniel’s voice coming way more slowly, when he continues. “This has been a journey for me as well. Even with the parts I do not know yet I have learned things about myself, that…” He trails off again, only to clear his throat, after a moment. “Anyways. I’m just… gonna go and have dinner with Raglan, and see where it goes. He’s interesting enough. There’s…”

Daniel trails off again, and Louis nods, continuing the sentence once more after a moment. “Just something about him.”

“Yeah.”

“Something you like…”

“Yeah.”

“Something you feel connected to.”

“…yeah.”

Louis smirks, a bit woefully. “Know the feeling.”

Daniel inhales. “But it’s… I don’t know.”

Louis grins. “Do you need a third as fig leaf? Or chaperone?”

Daniel snorts. “No. I think I’ll manage.” He clicks his tongue. “Take care, Louis. And don’t let Armand rile you up.”

Louis snorts, darkly. “I won’t.” He hesitates, and then adds, with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach: “Talk to you later.”

He ends the call, and stands there, staring into the void of the room, alone, and done, for the first time, the feeling alien, and weirdly enticing.

And rooting his feet to the spot, until he sits down when the sun comes up, watching it ascend behind the filtered glass, one tap of a finger a way from burning him to ash.

******

He leaves Jake to his task, with full grants and keys, taking the plane to New Orleans instead.

New Orleans feels more raw, more emotional, his self there riding the high of history and broken illusions, while his self in Dubai seems to be more collected, feeling the actual weight of time, and repercussions.

It is a weird dichotomy, and one he tries to align, the flights back and forth serving as a bridge for his soul.

He refrains from visiting Christine this time, or even inquiring where she may be, knowing the firm would inform her of such a call, vacation or not.

Rue Royale feels familiar and foreign at the same time, a place updated but built on what was, not yet lived in. He wonders what the neighbors make of it now, what they think of this newly renovated home only being used and lived in for a few nights… yet.

He knows it is ‘yet’, even if they may not know it. Yet.

Yet.

Another word that carries promise, carries expectations. Waiting for something to happen. Knowing something will happen, but not… yet.

He’s taken to stare at their bed before he goes out in the evenings.

The bed not yet theirs. The bed he knows will become theirs.

There’s a thrill to that thought, a thrill he cannot reject, or deny.

Despite all there was, and all they have shared - all the sex - there’s always something new between them, something thrilling, born from the electricity under their skin.

They know each other so well, know the other’s body so well. And yet.

Beyond their bed the coffin room is a big closet still, but big enough to hold two newly acquired coffins besides the shelves and actual clothes rack. He’s filled that closet, with anything he could think of, from suits and tuxedos to boxer shorts, and swim trunks, until it was almost overflowing, always threatening to spill over and fall down, onto the coffins.

The coffins.

Two similar coffins this time, lacquered black and rectangular, but with cream satin lining both, not green, like his old one was. Not fancy, but just a tad more decorated than his old one. And a whole lot less fancy than Lestat’s original one had been.

Sometimes he regrets having thrown it out of the window.

He has good memories of that coffin, of the ways they shared that little space, made it heat up.

And he knows now that Lestat must have went around the neighborhood later, must have erased memories, because throwing a coffin out of a house as a statement… was indeed a statement.

Not an event easily forgotten, but no-one he had encountered afterwards had ever said - or thought - about it.

The new coffins are both very comfortable, very thickly padded, like Lestat’s one had been. Not like Louis’, which had only been comfortable if he’d been able to put his head into that space under Lestat’s jaw, legs over his.

Not like the one in San Francisco, which had been an echo of his old one.

An echo which had always conjured the echo of the past, had never let it fade.

Not like the ones they’d had in Paris, either.

Looking back, he can only shake his head at his past self, at the way he threw himself back into denial after Paris. After having seen him again. After… whatever happened in the dungeons, after.

That one is still a blur, still a fog.

He knows something happened, something to do with him and… fire.

He knows it had impact on Lestat’s state of being.

He knows it made his own state of being just as fragile.

And though he has his suspicions he shies away from the thoughts most of the time, recognizing the emotional powder keg a mile away. There are no solutions to be had now in any case, he knows he needs to hash this out with Lestat. If and when Lestat is in a state to do so.

If and when he can trust that he is robust enough himself.

Lestat’s heartbeat is a slow drum, calling his own.

He can feel him, there, a weight and a promise, almost enough.

He snorts suddenly, calling himself out on that little lie, smirking and groaning, while he rubs a hand over his face, tearing himself away from their soon-to-be-but-not-yet bed.

The hunger is churning, not as badly as it could be, but he is in the mood for music, and some drinks, and then…

The steps down the stairs feel light, filled with anticipation, and his mouth watering, just a bit, the fangs pulsing.

The kill, Lestat, their bed.

Not yet.

******

He can sense the shift from two blocks away this time, his senses a lot more finely tuned now that he is feeding regularly once more.

He knows the heartbeat, too, and he sighs soundlessly to himself, not bothering to soften his steps, or hide his annoyance. He doesn’t particularly feel like encountering him, but then … Armand had only ever played the game and bent to Louis when he had felt like it, Louis knows that now, had actually always known it, even though he had tried to ignore that little truth.

He expects Armand to stand in the backyard and he is, once more windswept and standing over the earth where Lestat is buried, still and with a faraway gaze, like a wraith, haunting and remote.

Louis frowns a bit, stepping through the driveway, puts his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket he wears, relaxing his shoulder with a bit of an effort.

Armand looks up, and the forlorn hope on his face punches right through Louis’ defenses, brings back the memory of the attraction he felt back then, makes his shackles rise, makes his voice gruff.

He presses the words out, furious at himself, at his own reaction. “Armand. Nice of you to drop by.”

He swallows, turning away a bit, with a sniff, watching Armand from the corner of his eyes.

Armand tilts his head, his eyes flickering to Louis’ for a second before they return to watch the grass.

His voice carries no real inflection. “I do come by from time to time, whether you are here or not.”

Louis smiles a smile that bites. “Whether I want you to or not.”

Armand quirks an eyebrow, seemingly not at all taken aback by the barely veiled hostility in Louis’ voice, hostility that is oozing from the history between them, and the revelations that brought them here still. Hostility that is almost icy by now. “I was not aware I needed your permission.”

Louis works his jaw. “This is my property.”

Armand’s lips twitch in the smallest little smile, but the dark amusement is evident in his voice. “Should I float a few inches above the ground then?”

Louis exhales through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “How come you usually evade me then but choose to be here when I am here this time?”

Armand raises his eyebrows, voice somewhat fatalistic. “We cannot forever avoid seeing the other. Our lives are entwined…”

Armand trails off and Louis swallows, harshly, something in him wanting to lash out, to reject.

He knows. He knows. And yet.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, looking away. “Have been entwined.”

“Hmm.” Armand’s tone gives nothing away, the absence of any inflection speaking volumes.

Louis closes his eyes, silently shakes his head.

Decides to change the subject. “I was surprised you left me the rings…”

He can sense Armand focusing on him, an impact of energy that he would not be able to name, or define.

Armand’s voice carries vague surprise. “I didn’t?”

Louis smiles grimly, and then reopens his eyes to face him.

He cannot keep the biting undertone from his words. “Well, in a manner of speaking?”

Armand frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “The rings. His rings.” He points to the lawn beneath them with his right hand. “You commented on them last time. You left them at Sausalito. The Talamasca have returned them to me, aft…”

He cannot finish, Armand interjecting. “I did not have them in Sausalito.”

Louis pauses, taken aback.

He lifts his eyebrows. “So… how did the Talamasca get them then?” He hesitates, and then adds: “Raglan said that…” He can see Armand’s face shutter, in real time, the blank expression of hidden thoughts and emotions pulled up, like a mask.

Louis trails off, presses his lips together.

He shakes his head. “We’re playing three-dimensional chess with trapdoors, aren’t we?”

A small smile flickers over Armand’s face, there and gone again.

His voice carries a deflated note. “Knowledge has always been power.”

Louis nods to himself, waving his hand. “And you could not have told me about any of it, could you.”

Armand’s chin lifts, just a bit. “You did not ask.”

Louis hisses, through his clenched teeth. “You made sure I did not know the questions.”

Armand hesitates, and then adds, slowly and deliberately. “You did not ask even before I… protected you. Even before San Francisco actually knowing… was not your priority.” He tilts his head, the big eyes at once emotionless, and fathomless deep. “And you have my number.”

Louis scoffs, something in him coiling. “And so what, you tell me I could just have called you? Asked you? Gone over Daniel’s draft with you?”

Something flickers over Armand’s face, something Louis cannot place, but his answer is simple: “Yes.”

There is a pause, where Louis just glowers at Armand, not knowing what to say.

Deep within he knows Armand is genuine, knows he’s telling the truth.

But calling Armand… had never crossed Louis’ mind before. Had never been… an option.

Looking back at the last months he suddenly isn’t so sure as to the why anymore. Why had they not accessed that resource? Why had he and Daniel both not discussed that?

Had he simply been too furious?

Why had Daniel never really prompted him to do so?

Daniel, who had tried so hard to retrieve both their memories, had suggested hypnotherapy, and meditation, light stimulation and a dozen other therapies.

But calling Armand had not been part of it.

Why?

Armand speaks up, obviously having read or guessed his thoughts. “Daniel knows that coming at the story from various angles and various point of views will enable him to write a lot more books.”

Louis frowns, vaguely taken aback, but definitely wanting answers now more than being able to reject. “You mean he deliberately did not bring you up?”

Another flicker of emotion, running over Armand’s face, there and gone again. “I would believe so.”

Louis swallows, echoing. “You think he wants to write more books.” He hesitates for a split second, his voice carrying sudden bitterness that he tries to suppress, viciously. “Interview you, or …” His gaze falls onto the spot where Lestat lies, below them. “… him.”

Armand tilts his head. “Is that not logical? We gave him his motto after all.” Armand hesitates, and then lifts his eyebrows. “You gave him his motto.”

Louis bites the words out. “A bright young reporter with a point of view.”

A small smile plays on Armand’s lips. “Yes.” The smile seems to drain from his face, in slow motion. “Not that young anymore.” He blinks. “By human standards, of course.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, not feeling a need to comment on that.

Instead he changes the subject just slightly. “Fareed is still administering the medicine that you created for Daniel. And it is helping.” He hesitates. “Last time, it helped Daniel remember. Parts at least. This time, it helps more with the physical symptoms, but some memories are still locked, despite our efforts.” He locks his eyes with Armand’s, who is gazing at him almost passively. Remembers Armand’s weird reaction the last time they met. “Someone else removed the memories of Sausalito and the time surrounding that home… Someone very powerful. Am I right?”

He watches as Armand’s mask becomes even more firm.

The words are a challenge he does not bother to hide. “And you know who it is.”

Armand turns away, abruptly, crossing his arms. “I will not talk about that.”

Louis steps forward, unable to hide the energy, the glee from his voice, the scent of the hunt speaking to him, deeply. “What good is asking questions if the truth has been cut to pieces, removed, tinkered with.” He scoffs. “You come here, pretending I could have called you, but I bet you would have only ignored my calls.”

Armand’s tone is flat. “You made it clear you did not want to be in contact with me.”

Louis cackles, and then deflates, suddenly very tired. “And yet… you’re here.” He shakes his head. “And I wished I could say I think you’re here for me, to apologize… but I guess we both know who you’re here for.” He shoots a look at the grass, and then steps around Armand, tilting his head so he can catch Armand’s lowered gaze. “But why are you here, Armand?” He narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

There is a long pause, and then Armand speaks, his voice so low Louis can barely discern it over the sounds of the city around them. “He’s about to wake up.”

A moment of time, where Louis’ heart seems to skip a beat.

His voice feels rough, the word having a sharp edge to it that cut into his throat. “What?”

Armand inhales, deeply, and then unlocks his arms, his Adam’s apple bopping as he swallows. “You asked why I am here. I am here because he is about to wake up.”

Louis blinks, slowly shaking his head. “And so what. You wanted to be here on waking so you could tell him something about me, like before?” The anger is back suddenly, hot and flaring. “You told him I was dead!”

Armand’s tone is clipped. “In an effort to rouse him.” He hesitates, and then amends. “Then, at least.”

Louis shakes his head, eyebrows lifted, hand waving to encompass everything. “All this could have been prevented, if you’d told the fucking truth, Armand.”

Something breaks in Armand’s gaze, his expression cracking, like lines in the earth during an earthquake.

His voice shakes. “The truth has only ever brought me abandonment.” The cracks realign, reform to a mask that bleeds pain. “I opened myself to him, begged for him to take me with him.” Long lashes descend, hiding the amber from sight. Louis has to strain to understand the words. “Loneliness. And then you. Saving me from it.”

Louis swallows, and then shake his head. “That’s all it was, wasn’t it. A reprieve from the eternal boredom. From loneliness.” Lestat’s voice in his head: ‘You take away the loneliness, Louis.’ “Story of my life, apparently.” He smiles, a bit forcedly, knowing the words will wound. “But it makes me think you might have overplayed your story a bit, to be frank. Or underplayed it.” He inhales, deeply. “There has to be more to it, for Lestat to choose loneliness over a relationship.” with you.

He quirks an eyebrow, looking at the ground for a moment. “I know him, you know. I know… how deeply he feels. I know he loved Nicolas.” He exhales a shuddering breath. “I know there must be more to the story.”

Armand’s mouth opens, slowly, with a soundless sigh. “There was.” He lifts his eyebrows, just a bit. “There is.”

Louis nods, very slowly. “There is more to Sausalito and Daniel, too, isn’t there.”

Pain flickers over Armand’s face, there and gone again, but it is all Louis needs to see.

He understands suddenly, stating, without much anger, watching the emotions chase over Armand’s expression. “You’re here to pick up the remaining threads. Because eternity is nothing but threads, and regret.” He hesitates, and then continues. “You’re here because he pulled you from the darkness of the cult, destroyed your life and gave you a new one.”

He snorts suddenly, winking at Armand. “One might say Daniel has done the same, huh?”

Armand stares at him, silently.

Louis exhales after a moment, shaking his head, before continuing.

His voice carries finality. “You’re here to provide assistance, blood.”

Armand’s voice cracks around the words. “He will be hungry and in need of superficial healing.”

Louis nods slowly. “Will he be half-mad, like I was?”

Armand shakes his head once. “No. He will… need some time, but Lestat…” He hesitates, and then adds, voice flat. “Lestat carries blood which surpasses mine.”

Louis frowns, watching him. “How can that be?”

Another flicker of pain, another pause.

When Armand speaks again, the pain is threaded through all of his words, carrying his very tone. “Lestat is a force of nature. He managed what I could not.”

Louis frowns, watching Armand, trying to understand.

He is on the verge of asking when Armand continues, with a sigh. “Lestat has always dared to … dare. Challenge the status quo.” Louis frowns, wanting to interject, wanting to point out Lestat did not dare to tell them anything for fear of a vague ‘or else’.

But Armand continues, without waiting for a response. “A singular drive to survive, and to make the best of it.” His head lifts, just a bit. “Maybe that is something I should take note of.”

Louis swallows, rising his eyebrows, tone carrying sarcasm. “You mean instead of trying to uphold the status quo by force?”

He half expects Armand to reject the notion, but Armand only tilts his head, just a bit. “To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often.”

Louis frowns, just a bit. “John Henry Newman.”

“Yes.” Armand inclines his head. His eyes find Louis’, seem to bore into his. “Maybe it is time to go after perfection instead of stability. Instead of chasing what was.”

Louis frowns, trying to follow. “Meaning…?”

Armand hums, shrugging lightly before answering. “You told me I would never abandon my rules.” He hesitates. “And it is true, I find it… hard, and bothersome to bend or even break them.” He exhales, falling silent.

Louis waits for a long minute, and then prompts. “But?”

Armand blinks up at him. “But… Lestat always followed his heart. Maybe it is time I… did what my heart longs for as well.”

Louis hesitates, weirdly touched by the statement, trying to keep the heat from his words. “I thought that is why you… kept me all those decades.”

Armand’s eyebrows lift up high, wrinkling his forehead. “For lack of other options.”

Louis presses his lips together, trying not to be offended, and failing, badly. “Ah. I see.”

Armand blinks, gaze without any shame, or guilt. “We both had no other options.”

Louis narrows his eyes, locking his gaze with Armand.

He swallows, tone gruff, not quite asking. “And now we do?!”

Armand’s hand comes up, slowly, seemingly as not to spook Louis, his hand cupping Louis’ jaw, the thumb stroking the skin for a moment.

Armand seems serene suddenly, as if a knot of emotions has been unraveled, though Louis cannot quite place why. His voice is soft. “I cannot regret my time with you, Louis.” His eyes flicker to the ground, then come back up to catch Louis’ gaze again. “You are strong enough now.” He steps back, his hand falling away, leaving the skin suddenly cold and tingling. “But tonight is a change, for both of us.”

Louis blinks, and then swallows, his stomach churning.

He suddenly knows. “You’re leaving now.”

Armand nods, his voice painfully honest suddenly. “He chose you, and it took me decades to accept that.” A small, excruciatingly bitter smile, matching the punch the words leave in Louis’ gut. “Maybe I have to learn… whether I can choose for myself as well.”

Louis frowns, staring at him, unsure what to say. He can sense they are at a turning point, a crossroads, but he neither really knows how they got here, nor what it will mean.

Which is, all things considered, exciting, actually.

He finally responds, citing softly. “All you need to know is that the future is wide open and you are about to create it by what you do.”

Armand smiles, a bit more genuinely, warmly. “Pema Chödrön.”

Louis snorts, very gently, the air between them softening somehow.

He keeps his tone light. “So what will you do now?”

Armand tilts his head, shakes it, once, while he takes a step back. “Time will tell.”

Louis opens his mouth, but there is a swoosh and Armand is gone, only the impression of the air moving against Louis’ skin proving he was ever there.

Louis stares at the spot, and then at their house, the stairs, the upper floors, the dark windows.

Beneath his feet the ground feels liquid.

He concentrates on the feeling, hones in on it, basks in it.

The meaning of it. The promise. The feeling of belonging, despite everything.

Maybe because of everything.

So much that he almost misses when the ground truly gives, makes him stumble.

His mind needs a moment to catch up, his feet stumbling away before his brain narrows down the why, before his emotions can even track what is happening.

The earth breaks, and a pale hand appears, muddy, thin, vaguely skeletal.

And Louis’ heart skips a beat.

———————- END of part TWO ——-————-

Chapter Text

He had bared his neck.

It’s the only really solid memory he has still of what happened after he watched Lestat crawl out of the earth, after their eyes had met.

The hunger between them had been sublime.

The gratification had been as well.

It’s base, a coupling driven by instinct, and to the thundering beats of their hearts, synced, demanding more, ever more.

The tang of the earth when his mouth had found Lestat’s neck had only enhanced the experience, had driven home how badly he had wanted this.

The skeleton under his fingers had filled out a bit, with every swallow of that mouth, against his throat.

The surrender had been absolute and sublime in its simplicity.

He remembers falling onto his back, after, his body used, and feeling so good.

He remembers spreading out his hands, to hold the ground, churning beneath him.

He remembers that being the thought that had brought him back to reality, the present.

His skin feels like it is on fire, all the cells in his body electrified, firing with sensations, the input flooding his brain, making the world feel sluggish.

Liquid.

The earth beneath them feels liquid.

Louis cackles, and then gasps, as a fang drags down his chest.

He’s not sure where his clothes have gone to, when they have been removed, but it doesn’t matter now, does it, not now, when the feeling of Lestat’s lips drag another white-hot punch of desire down the trail of sparse hair on Louis’ chest, and down his stomach, destroys all thought when wet heat swallows him whole, without warning, demands more, ever more.

Lust, rushing up, pulsing through his veins, his mind. His cock jumps in Lestat’s mouth, makes room for itself, the sensation slamming through his mind, into his back, making it arch.

The sky above is filled with diamonds, sparkling, and then Lestat swallows around him, and the stars fade to black as Louis’ eyes roll up in his head, the heels of his feet futilely digging into the earth. He only realizes his hands are in Lestat’s hair when he clenches them, clenches them hard as Lestat burrows in further, lifts Louis’ thighs over his shoulders.

For a moment, awareness returns, makes Louis question whether doing this in the open in the backyard is such a good idea.

Doing it again, too.

Then Lestat’s tongue takes that thought, starts to move on him, grind almost, emulating perfectly, precisely, viciously, the hairs on Louis’ body standing up, electrified, the ball of fire in his guts there, just there, but he does not want to yield, not again, not yet, soon, it is too soon.

Pressure builds, and his cock pulses in the wet heat, the feeling of come of before leaving him, making him mewl, shake, leak, the nails digging into his thighs holding him in place tightening just a bit.

Rhythmic pressing now, and the tongue massaging.

Lestat’s throat swallows around Louis’ cock, again, again, and again.

Divine pressure, the ecstasy promised, demanded.

Wanted.

It’s the taste of him, wanted.

His blood.

The connection.

A realization suddenly, a belated one, but so clear as to be blinding.

This is why.

And this is how.

Louis reopens his eyes, and reaches for them, reaches for the liquid feeling, imagining for it to be a pool, into which he can let himself fall.

For decades, he has dreaded this. Clung to his control, never let himself fall completely.

The last vestiges of his old self, fortified against the bitter world, and Lestat.

Fortified against regret, and disappointment, unconquerable and yet insufficient, porous, leaving him hollowed out, and bitter.

A shell, brought low.

Not anymore.

His eyes drift shut again, with a sigh, as he decides to let himself fall.

Relief, first.

And then.

His orgasm coils, and then uncoils, rushing along his veins, but slowly, slowed down and matched to their hearts, utterly out of his control, and then love is there, threading through, braiding in, pulling him in, making him a being born from levity and delight, floating on desire and abandon, and sheer and utter, fatal adoration.

I love you, Louis.

He does not need to hear it.

He can feel it.

He arches up, offering his answer, in flesh and blood and soul, and it sings through him, in almost painful purity, a slow, drawn-out orgasm that brings him to tears, makes him a mute through its intensity.

For a moment, the universe grinds to a halt, offers absolution.

No thought, no mind, just them.

Peace.

Serenity.

Promise.

The air seems cold when Lestat’s mouth releases his cock, and Louis makes himself look down the length of his body, makes himself meet the bright blue eyes with the huge black pupils, in the dirt smeared face, in the still vaguely hollowed-out features, the long fangs visible, the mouth messy with spit and blood.

His right hand fingers drop down from Lestat’s matted and muddy hair, trace the cheekbone to the nose, then down, to hover over the cupid’s bow.

The need shifts, slowly, within him, coming from different sources, Lestat, lust, his own sated and yet molten desire, and the feeling between them, the feeling that seems impossible to decipher, so loud somehow as to be deafening.

He licks his lips, surprised when his voice obeys, though his words come out raspy, and raw: “Come to me.” A flash of a wicked little smile, while his left hand tightens, pulls.

His voice drops, until it is a purr, carried on the rumbling of his voice in his chest. “Come in me.” He grins, smiles widely, as to show his fangs. “Again.”

He half expects Lestat to growl or quip, or laugh, but he is silent as he moves, crawls up Louis body in a way that is simply predatory, makes all the instincts in Louis’ mind flare up.

Lestat had always had that feline grace, that ability to move his body, and it speaks to Louis on an utter primal basis, on something that is impossible to fake, impossible to plan.

His thighs open, fall down, wide, allow Lestat the space, the hands that look like claws coming down right and left of his chest and then next to his face making him shiver, Lestat’s body emancipated, and thin, but radiating power, radiating lust.

The movements are slow, flowing, making Louis shiver, making him cold, and hot, in equal measure.

Lestat’s eyes are black now, with this thin blue ring, the ring that draws Louis in, pull him into a vortex, until nothing else exists.

The ring closes in, as a kiss as light as a feather is being placed onto Louis’ lips, hovers, burns.

Before, before had been instinct, no finesse.

A primal coupling that had fried Louis’ brain.

This, this he will be aware of.

And he wants it so badly he can taste it.

Something in him clenches, and he blinks, shivering, and then he lets his hand glide to Lestat’s throat, holding without strength, but making the demand clear.

Lestat stills, in his grasp, the black eyes boring into Louis, the hot length of his cock laid against Louis’ thigh.

Louis licks his suddenly parched lips, his throat clicking as he swallows.

He feels for the need, feels for what he wants, admitting what he wants.

His guts clench, in anticipation.

He clears his throat, and then pushes at Lestat, just a bit, pushing him sideways, before turning on his side, and then, releasing Lestat’s throat, he gets up on his knees, his heart pounding in his ears.

It’s not the first time they have had sex doggy style, as they call it now.

Being nervous is ridiculous.

But this feels different nonetheless, the black hollow of Lestat’s gaze burning a hole into Louis, makes his legs shake.

He lowers his head, slowly, keeping their gazes locked, spreading his legs just a bit, while he lowers his head to his crossed arms.

His voice is gravelly, scratchy, demanding. “And now, cher, make it real good.”

There is the slightest pause, and then Lestat grins, ferally, but also with this touch of humor, this subtle note that vibrates along their bond, unclenches Louis’ stomach.

Louis closes his eyes, with a grin, and puts his forehead onto his hands.

Hands settle on his hips, tilt it.

Louis exhales.

The first push comes, without much warning, without fanfare, filling him, taking his thought. All the way in, the way readied before, made wet before, and Louis groans, bites the word out. “Yes.”

Yes.

The world drops away, not like before, but narrowed down, narrowed down to only this, their joining. He feels weightless, his body a limitless entity that is held by the hands that hold him in place, made real only by the cock that takes him.

His body gives, easily, greedily, tight around Lestat, fitting in a way that left all others wanting. Their bodies, fitting, rippling, pushing, realizing once more that they fit. They just… fit.

Deep thrusts, but gentle still, fulfilling both their need for connection first and foremost, the drag within making him almost cross-eyed with pleasure, makes him curl his toes.

It’s not the hunt for orgasm yet, no, this is more, better in a way, pleasure for pleasure’s sake, for them both. A realignment of wants, and needs, and the ability to name them, too.

Louis feels his lips twitch, feels the smile spread, as if an afterthought, carried on the bliss and joy.

He knows Lestat is also smiling, grinning actually, his head thrown back, the eyes closed as well.

Louis sighs, undulates, and then asks for more, by tilting his hips.

The change is immediate.

The shortest pause, and then little jabs, down, down, into him, against that point of pleasure, of pressure, gliding onto and along it, making the lights behind Louis’ closed eyes go off, explode, like little supernovas.

He gasps, and then tilts his hips even more, shifts, feels Lestat follow the request.

Sharp fucks now, jarring him, and he groans, letting himself fall into it, letting the base part of himself revel in the fucking, in the offering, in the receiving.

Lewd, squelching sounds, and the slap of skin onto skin, and the hands, holding his hips.

He’s not sure he’s ever been this satisfied in his life.

It’s good beyond what the orgasm promises, though he can feel it coiling, still out of reach. No, this is beyond that, on a level that destroys the shackles in his mind, and placed upon him by society and his upbringing, and not reluctantly or helplessly, no willingly, he basks in it, invites it, moaning freely, the air scraping down his throat.

He can feel his cock leaking precome, can feel the way Lestat’s cock is also going smoother, even deeper, their balls touching on every push.

Hidden fantasies, drowned and pushed away, and Louis remembers, allows them, feels how it seeps into their bond, Lestat’s thumbs finding the place where they are joined, pulling at the flesh, going deeper, pressing his thumbs in as well, just a bit, making them true.

Partially at least.

Louis cackles at the thought, and the motion trickles through the lust, shifts it, makes it lighter. Some of the base note of it disappears, but it’s okay, it’s okay now, he knows now he can, and will.

Lestat’s left hand leaves his hip, goes round his stomach, palm splayed over his heart, pulling him up. Louis twists around, reaches up, for a messy kiss full of fang and spit, and then falls back onto all fours, starts to move back against Lestat with a gasp, and a deep throaty laugh when he hears Lestat curse.

Hard slaps now, so deep they seem to touch Louis’ soul.

Sudden weight on his back and they tumble forward, down, and Louis is on his stomach, grinding into the earth, Lestat fucking him down into it, while pulling his upper body up, twisting him, to find his mouth.

Bated breaths, and grins, and Lestat’s hips, getting uncoordinated.

Louis takes Lestat’s hand, pushes it between the grass and his body, wraps his cock with both their hands, their fingers entwined.

Lestat’s hips shift, still, his eyes locked to what he can see of Louis.

And then he tightens his hand on Louis’ cock and pushes in, down, their locked hands and Louis’ cock pushing up, and Louis stops breathing, just stops, feeling the way the pressure is transmitted, transported, felt.

His voice is a broken whisper. “Oh my god.”

Lestat snarls at him - and holds, holds, there, right there, all nerve endings of Louis’ body flaring, the head of Lestat’s cock pushing against Louis prostate, his fingers tight around the base of Louis’ cock.

His orgasm breaks, shattering him, like glass, splinters settling under his skin, little hooks, never to be removed.

He opens his mouth against Lestat’s in a silent scream, feels the way Lestat’s attention shifts, to him, always him, experiences this moment with him, helplessly pulled along.

Pulses, deep within, to the beats of his heart, emptying into their joined hands.

Fangs find his neck, in that place that wants, so much, while a wrist yields to his.

Ecstasy.

Orgasm carried on the blood, blood that seems to glow, seems to be light made sustenance.

The world drops away, leaves only them, cocooned in a womb of feeling, of emotion, shielded by their beating hearts.

And beyond the feeling, beyond the relief, beyond the ecstasy is a simple thought:

I am home.

******

Silence, after.

A kiss to his temple, like a benediction, and their bodies separating, slowly, unwillingly, mourned by them both. Louis keeps his fingers locked with Lestat’s, messiness be damned, while feeling the soft breeze glide through the hairs on his body, feeling Lestat nestle in, behind him.

It’s often like this, in the afterglow, but it has never before been this… potent.

Heightened sensation, all his senses expanded, his body feeling light, and powerful.

Freshly infused with powerful blood, still rushing through his veins.

Blood that still clings to his teeth, to his lips, makes his fangs tingle.

He chases the taste of it, running his tongue around his mouth, sucks it out of the little spaces between his teeth, the fleeting taste of Lestat mixing with the taste of his own saliva.

The words come without much thought, carried on his neurons firing lazily, little fireworks, little shooting stars. “Your blood tastes differently.”

Than I remember at least.

He frowns, shifting his head, just a bit, to look at Lestat, from the corner of his eyes.

Lestat, who looks different, too, paler, much paler, his body filling out still, some of the bones still very much prominent.

And who blinks, slowly, his arm tightening around Louis’ waist for just a moment. “We heal in the earth.”

Louis frowns, shifting to turn onto his back, pulling their joined hands up to put them over his heart, while turning his head to face Lestat, staring at him close distance. “We heal in the earth?”

Lestat nods, slowly, and then shrugs, just a bit. “I mean, we also heal with time, but…” He trails off.

Louis swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth on Lestat’s trying to see.

He pushes past the hesitation to ask. “Are you… well?” Again? Are you well again?

Lestat inhales, deeply, his blond brows coming together. “Better.”

Louis releases a shuddering breath, nodding, once. “Good. That’s good.”

Lestat hums, his voice soft. “I scared you.”

It’s not a question, and Louis cackles, just softly, while squeezing Lestat’s fingers, lifting his other arm which is wedged between them so he can run the back of his index finger over a still quite protruding hip bone.

He admits, slowly, to them both. “You did.” He licks his lips. “But you remember, which is… good?” He lets the question hang there, watching Lestat watch him.

There is something in Lestat’s gaze, something Louis cannot place.

Eventually Lestat shrugs again repeating the word. “Better.” He inhales, deeply, and then nestles in further with a sigh, pushing his nose against Louis’ jaw, breaking their gaze. “I do feel better than before.”

Louis tilts his head, leans his temple against Lestat’s forehead. “Do you remember…” He trails off, not knowing how to ask.

“Argentina?” Lestat’s voice is a barely audible puff against Louis’ cheek. “I do. It’s a bit vague, but…” Another sigh. “I do. Most of it. I think.”

Louis closes his eyes, feeling more relieved than he cares to admit. “Good.” He swallows. “NOLA after, too?”

He can feel the small smile against his skin. “Yes.”

Louis exhales, squeezing the fingers between his. Repeating. “Good.”

They are silent for a moment, just listening to their heartbeats, the connection between them tranquil, not as tumultuous.

Louis frowns, deciding to put it into words. “I… is this why… I mean, is this why the ground beneath me always feels liquid?” He feels Lestat frown, and shifts a bit, pulling his head to the side to catch a glimpse of Lestat’s face. “Our connection, our bond I mean.” He licks his lips. “Is our emotions the reason it feels the way it feels?”

Madeleine’s felt different.

And I did not want even that, as little as it was.

There is the smallest pause, and then Lestat pushes up, onto his elbow, looking down at Louis, his dirty hair framing his face against the night sky like a tainted halo. “Our connection… our bond is special, Louis.” He smiles, softly, and then lifts his eyebrows. “I did not know it could feel like this.” His gaze flickers away, before he returns it to Louis’. “Nicki’s… had not felt like this.”

Louis watches him, prompting carefully, after a moment. “How had it felt?”

Lestat hesitates, and then shrugs, just a bit, something in his voice breaking. “Dark, bleak, intense. A maelstrom of abyssal nightmare, just out of reach.” He swallows. “It was an abyss, between us, impossible to overcome.”

Louis purses his lips, trying to imagine.

He speaks before he can think too much about it, can question his own wisdom. “The connection to her must have been vastly different.”

Lestat blinks, and then those eyes lock with his, like a laser beam, direct and focused and vaguely uncomfortable.

There is something in Lestat’s voice that is hard to place, something grating, but also carried on amusement. Carrying a challenge, too. “Her?”

Louis nods, clearing his throat. “Yes, I… the Talamasca have records, and I…” He grimaces, finishing a bit lamely. “… I now know Armand left Gabrielle out of the tale deliberately.”

Lestat’s eyes narrow, humor flickering over his face. There is a definite tease now in his voice, as well as something that Louis cannot place. “You mean my mother, Gabrielle.”

Louis holds his breath for a long second, and then exhales, in a rush, letting his emotions color his voice to deadpan, deliberately. “I have soooooo many questions.”

Lestat closes his eyes, and then cackles, and shakes his head, his lips carrying a grin, now, one with a wry touch. “I can imagine.” He sobers, slowly, and then nods, squeezing Louis’ fingers. “I… my relationship with her…” Lestat hesitates, and then opens his eyes again, finishing with a bit of a shrug. “It’s complicated. It never felt tranquil between us, but…” He grimaces. “I thought that was because of who… we are.” He shrugs again, with a sigh. “But you and I, Louis, we are… different.” A little smile, a small one, flickering up, and gone again, as if imagined. “Feeling you is an addictive fire, burning and warming in equal measure.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “A coal fire.”

Lestat clicks his tongue. “Hard to extinguish.”

Louis works his jaw a bit, squeezing Lestat’s fingers to take the sting out. “Very hard.”

They look at each other, for a long moment, and it is Louis who breaks the gaze after a moment, with a sigh, shifting just the tiniest bit closer, to feel Lestat’s chest press ever closer against his side.

He hesitates to breach the subject but cannot help it, his voice soft. “What do you remember?”

Lestat grimaces and then frowns, silent for a long moment. “I… I am not sure. I mean, I feel better now.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Sleeping does that.” He snorts softly. “But there’s a few decades there that seem to be blurred together. Just pain, and misery, and one night, fading into the next.”

Louis swallows, his voice gruff. “Know the feelin’.”

Lestat blinks. “I remember you, tending to me.” He narrows his eyes. “That seems… recent.”

Louis nods, shifting a bit to look up more comfortably, feeling Lestat move to accommodate him. “Argentina.” He smiles, a brittle little smile that bleeds at the edges. “You weren’t exactly well.”

Lestat purses his lips, seemingly quite unimpressed by the information. “Given I went to sleep I must have been.” He shrugs, looking up and letting his eyes drift over their house. “Well, I mean. You only go to sleep if you’re really not well or want to leave the world behind.”

Louis grimaces, a bit, something makes him not say it out loud. Or someone telling you to. He clears his throat. “You slept before?”

Lestat inhales deeply, and then looks back down at him, almost passively. “Yes.”

The word hangs in the air, laden with meaning, obviously carrying history. History Louis is suddenly very much aware Lestat does not want to talk about.

He looks at him, letting it hang, silently acknowledging its importance, and conveying that he has acknowledged it.

Lestat looks away eventually, a shadow passing over his face. “We have time to discuss all that now.”

Louis cannot help but smile at that, just a bit. “Do we?”

Lestat’s face clears, and the leans down in one fluid motion, comes to rest plastered to Louis body, a breath away from Louis’ face, the blue eyes boring into Louis’ green. “Oh yes. And so much to catch up to.”

“Oh?” Louis cannot help but tease, his body twitching rather tiredly. “Got any plans there?”

Lestat smirks, like a cheshire cat that ate the canary. “Maybe.” His fingers squeeze Louis, and then withdraw, slowly, his fingertips tracing little circles on Louis’ chest.

His voice is a low rumble. “You never let go like this before.” His eyes are intense now, laser beams drawing all of Louis in.

Louis swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, forcing himself to be honest. “No, I… always needed the control.”

Lestat opens his mouth, a vaguely calculating look on his face as he follows his fingers wander down Louis’ body, slowly. “And now?”

Louis hesitates, and then reaches for the teasing fingers, puts them on his cock, wraps them within his own, loosely.

He says the words, while reaching up to pull Lestat down for a kiss, arching up to receive it. “I feel like I’m more in control than ever before.”

*******

“I like what you did with the house.”

Louis smiles, undulating on the big bed, rubbing his face over the satin sheets.

His words are accentuated by a yawn. “What Jake did with it.”

The word is pressed into his left shoulder blade. “Jake?”

Louis hums. “Yes. An interior designer that your lawyer recommended. Good recommendation, too, I hired him to update my apartment in Dubai as well.”

Little nibbles, down the soft skin over the knobs of his spine. “Dubai, huh.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, shifting to put his arms under the pillow that his head is on. “Very good for privacy.”

Lestat pauses, dipping the tip of is tongue into the little dips at Louis hips. “I cannot imagine you being in the desert.”

Louis frowns, some of the levity leaving him, his face a grimace of a sudden influx of feelings. Complicated feelings. “At the time, it seemed… fitting.”

“Hmm.” Lestat’s breath tickles Louis’ ass, drifts down to his thighs. “I mean, the desert can have its charms.”

Louis nods, lightly, with a little sigh. “Yes.” He hesitates, and then asks, trying to thread carefully. “That Egyptian chair in our coffin room back then…”

Lestat gently bites the skin at the back of Louis’ knees with his lips, making Louis squirm. “Oui, I bought that on location.” Louis can feel him lift his head. “What happened to it, do you know?”

Louis hesitates, and then shrugs. “Not really. We put it into storage, remember?”

Lestat clicks his tongue, tone dry. “And never picked it up.”

Louis grimaces. “Doubt it’s still there.”

Lestat hums, and then snorts. “I think I paid for two decades, but that… “

Louis nods, and then shrugs, tilting his head to look back at Lestat. “It’s been a while.”

Lestat hums, sounding as if faraway with his thoughts. “This is my third century…”

Louis swallows.

He presses the words out. “Does it get easier?”

He can feel Lestat hesitate, and then crawl back up the bed, laying down next to Louis in a similar pose, his head on his folded hands.

He hesitates, for a long moment. “Yes, and no.” He shrugs. “It… is.”

Louis swallows, but nods, the statement making a weird kind of sense. “Yeah.” He snorts suddenly, clicking his tongue. “I didn’t even celebrate my birthday… my hundredth’ I mean.” He swallows. “At the time it seemed inconsequential.”

Lestat reaches out, draws the tip of a finger over Louis’ temple, jaw, gently, a shiver of a touch.

His voice is calm, with a hint of warmth, but a seriousness that punches. “I’ll throw you a party for the 200 years one. Hmm?” He shifts a bit closer, his arm draping loosely over Louis’ shoulders, fingers lightly drifting over Louis’ right shoulder. “Just promise you’ll be there.”

Louis gasps, a half laugh, blinking furiously at the sudden tears, at the sudden emotion, the despair and the relief, and the absolute horror and hope of staring at the abyssal maw filled with time’s teeth.

His words come out shakily. “I… promise.”

Lestat smiles softly, a smile with the edge of knowledge to it. “Thank you, mon cher.”

Louis closes his eyes, sniffs, nodding to himself.

He clears his throat, trying to bring back a bit of levity, lowering his head onto the pillow with a sigh. “I hope we didn’t … wake too many neighbors.” He pulls a face, shooting Lestat a look from the corner of his eyes. “Think someone noticed?”

Lestat shrugs. “Maybe. I didn’t check for mortals. I know Armand watched.”

Louis halts, and then blinks, the word bursting out of him. “What???”

Lestat lays down as well, mirroring Louis’ position, his expression carrying severe amusement now, voice tinged with laughter, as well as something Louis cannot place. “He likes to watch.” Lestat winks at Louis, that something in his voice heavy for a moment. “You should know that, shouldn’t you.”

Louis stares at him, tempted for a long moment to make this into a fight, to reject, to pretend… and then deflates, grumbling. “I know.” He starts to cackle, then snicker, then laugh, softly, more to himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head just a bit. “God, I know.” He sobers slowly, to open his eyes to Lestat watching him, the blue eyes electric, the light from the closed drapes holding back the daylight just, but letting that minimum enough through to illuminate them, make them glow. “There’s many things I have forgotten, many things that… Still don’t quite line up. But yeah. He used to watch when I was… with mortals.” He swallows, sobering, watching the colors shift in Lestat’s eyes. He pulls his left hand from beneath the pillow, carefully and slowly reaches up to put his forefinger under Lestat’s right eye onto the soft skin there, just beneath the crown of lashes there that catch the light as well, the tips seeming aglow.

“It didn’t bother me then. It…” He works his jaw for a long moment. “It was different to what he wanted of and with me, which…” He swallows, and then exhales, with a grimace. “Was fine for me.” He rolls his eyes a bit at himself. “In fact I appreciated the… opportunity to get away from it.”

Lestat frowns a bit, obviously on the verge of asking, but Louis shakes his head, continuing after a moment. “The history Armand carries is…” He licks his lips, his eyes locking with Lestat’s. “…heavy.” He raises his eyebrows. “And it takes forms in certain coping mechanisms.”

Lestat quirks an eyebrow, and then shrugs, just a little bit. “We all try to cope as we can.”

Louis grimaces a bit, watches a shadow pass over Lestat’s face. “Guess we do.” He inhales, undulating a bit. “He said that you and he…”

Lestat snorts, and then turns onto his side, and then onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his hair fanned out over the pillow.

His voice carries sarcasm. “Oh, did he now.” He works his jaw, and then smiles, sharply. “There is a little bit more to that story, Louis.” He tilts his head, lifts his left hand to let the back of his fingers drift along Louis’ right shoulder. “But that is not for here and now.”

Louis swallows, and then nods, his voice firm but carrying that note of hope he cannot suppress. “But we can talk about it now, eventually I mean.”

Lestat blinks, very slowly, and then inhales, his ribcage lifting, casting shadows. “I guess we can.”

Louis bites his lips. “Not particularly looking forward to that?”

Lestat smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but his voice carries a gravity that sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. “Non.”

There is a small vibration noise, somewhere in the pile of clothes they collected and flung uncaringly into the corner of the room earlier.

Louis quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t move an inch otherwise.

Lestat grins softly. “Not in the mood for technology?”

Louis hums, and then nestles into the pillow more firmly. “Not in the mood for anything but to be here, now.”

Lestat sighs, one leg propping up, shifting a bit, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I need to catch up a lot.” He shrugs. “With technology I mean.”

Louis hums, stifling a yawn, his eyes drifting closed. “You handled Siri just fine.”

Lestat frowns, with a blink. “Who’s Siri?”

Louis freezes, and then reopens his eyes, slowly, staring at Lestat’s side profile.

He swallows, choosing his words carefully. “Lestat… how long do you think you slept?”

Lestat hesitates, and then hums, with a shrug. “I… guess a few decades? It was always a few decades before.”

Louis blinks, running his tongue over his teeth before coming up on his elbows, trying to catch Lestat’s gaze. “Lestat, you slept just over 10 months. You… did so after I mistakingly told you to go to sleep, I mean, I wanted you to rest, but not like this, and…” Louis trails off, a shiver running down his spine, a stone of ice cold dread in his stomach suddenly. “You don’t remember, do you.”

Lestat frowns, and there is the impression of his hackles being raised suddenly, his tone gruff, but his eyes are averted. “Remember what.”

Louis licks his lips. “Us. Argentina.” He closes his eyes, tone dead, and accusing. “You said you did. Earlier.”

Lestat is silent for a long moment, and then answers, sounding extremely defensive. “And I should. But I…” He grimaces. “I remember making plans for Argentina. I remember writing a letter. There’s… impressions. Scenes.”

Louis closes his eyes, letting his head fall down, forehead pressing into the pillow.

He echoes, sounding exhausted to his own ears. “Impressions. Scenes.”

Lestat’s voice is hard now, and there seems to be a draught of cold air, chilling them both. “Yes. Impressions. I…” He grimaces, and then rolls off the bed, shaking his head and hair with a huff, his movements jerky. “I’m going to shower.”

Louis pushes up, feeling angry suddenly, pushing off the bed as well to stalk after Lestat. “We need to talk about this!”

Lestat twirls around to face him in the middle of the landing, where the second piano had once stood. “Talk about what, Louis. My faulty memory?” He raises his eyebrows. “I know I was not in a good place for a long time, and I hope it comes back, but we both know whose fault that was, don’t we.” He turns on his heel again, leaving Louis stand there, with his mouth hanging open.

Louis stutters, walking after him, a moment too late. “A… and what is that supposed to mean, huh?” He jabs a finger towards his own chest, anger making his voice harsh. “You think this is my fault?”

Lestat opens the bathroom door, lifts his head, waving a finger without looking at Louis. “I did not say that.”

Louis scoffs, stalking after him. “Oh, the hell you did.” He throws the door closed behind them. “I told you, I do not remember what happened there, I…”

Lestat interrupts him, his eyes flashing when he turns to look at Louis. “You burnt me. Push after push of the fire gift. Burning me, repeatedly. That is what happened, Louis.”

Louis works his jaw, feeling the muscles jump. There is a flash of guilt somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach which confirms, but he ignores it, his voice bitter. “Oh, yes, and that you remember.”

Lestat blinks, his lip twitching, silent for a long moment.

His voice is gruff but calm when he eventually speaks. “I could think of nothing else for a long time.” He snorts, voice so deeply sarcastic it bleeds. “Guess you could say it burnt itself into my mind.”

Louis blinks, refusing to let the tears that want to rise fall.

His voice is very soft, very light. “Funny.”

Lestat closes his eyes.

Louis speaks again, after a moment. “And here we are again, tearing into each other, like…” He trails off, unable to finish the thought out loud. … like when she left us.

Is this what we are when the masks have fallen away?

He exhales, shakingly, his fingers twitching.

He looks down at them, and then pulls off the rings, one by one, placing them side by side onto the edge of the sink. “These belong to you.”

Lestat jerks, as if slapped.

Louis shivers, feeling reality wobble and take a side-step, but he turns, feeling out of his body, the whole world echoing. “I am going to check my texts.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, exiting the bathroom with small steps, returning to the bedroom as if on autopilot. He sifts through the dirty and torn clothes, ignoring them, reaching for the tether of reality that the phone represents, the screen lighting up with a punch to his neurons, piercing through the fog.

Fifteen messages. Six phone calls.

All by Daniel.

Going on about a weird feeling, and the feeling of being stalked, increasingly urgently.

Hastily speaking on voice messages that Armand has been sitting in the corner of his room, watching him like a devil on the chest, for hours.

Louis presses the button to dial his number as he hears the shower start up, refusing to cry.

Chapter Text

Nightfall, after a very uncomfortable day.

Louis has his eyes closed, feeling Lestat’s presence next to him, and it grates. He has not slept much, his emotions a pit of turmoil, continuously on the verge of crying, and refusing to.

Lestat had come back to bed at some point, freshly showered, in pajamas Louis had bought for him, wearing the rings - and he had not said one word.

Not that Louis blames him for that, he himself is all out of words as well, the weight of what had already been said muting them both, sharpening the awareness that more words… were not a good idea right now.

Still.

The pace of their heartbeats had broken them both down, until only raw discomfort remained, the need to get away for a while immense, and the inability to do so because of the day stifling.

And yet neither had gone to their coffins, either.

Their bond had felt like an open wound, throbbing.

Louis had wanted to run, immediately, when the night fell, but he stayed, not moving.

Feeling Lestat do the same, despite.

Both waiting, both torn, both needing.

Stalemate. Checkmate.

Louis snorts suddenly, and then cackles, one tear escaping after all, which he wipes away with a rather angry movement, his voice hard. “Just thought about chess, and then I remembered that chess game with her, and…”

Lestat takes a moment to answer. “She took me apart. And I knew the game was on then.”

Louis swallows, and then sniffs. “I know.” He nods, with his eyes closed. “I know.” He exhales, and then turns his head just a bit. “I’m… sorry. I don’t remember, but…”

Lestat sounds exhausted. “I know.”

Louis nods again, biting his lips. “It doesn’t make it better, does it.”

Lestat snorts, in a decidedly humorless way. “Just as with what I don’t remember from Argentina I guess…”

Louis runs his tongue over his teeth. “The emotional impact is too great.”

He can hear Lestat’s throat click with a swallow. “Oui.”

Louis inhales, deeply, shakily, waits until his voice is stable again. “Where did you go?” He clicks his tongue. “I mean after… after Paris.” He rolls his shoulders, just a bit, hearing the pops. “The Talamasca could not find you.” I could not find you.

Lestat takes his time to answer, his voice devoid of any emotion. “I told you. I crawled home. Eventually. I hid between bouts of exhaustion, preyed on the vulnerable.” The shortest pause, the question coming in the same tone, scratching, like nails on a blackboard. “Did you reach Daniel?”

Louis presses his lips together, for a long moment. “No.” He sniffs, continuing, with an effort. “I need to check on him. He is due for another infusion, too, Fareed called to arrange, and I really should get on it.”

Lestat exhales, soundlessly. “So why don’t you?”

Louis gnashes his teeth, lips twisting in a small snarl when he answers. “Oh, I see, you have enough of me already?”

He expects Lestat to bite back, but his voice stays the same, emotionless and too calm. “The Louis in my dreams was so much nicer.”

Louis narrows his eyes. The Louis in your… He echoes the tone, the words dripping with pitch-black humor. “Well, I can confirm that the Lestat in my dreams could be a real bitch.” Among other things.

Lestat hums, tone viciously sardonic, the words hitting Louis like stabs. “Did you tell him that you loved him?”

Louis’ mouth drops open, but he closes it again, getting up and walking into the walk-in closet without a further word, reaching for new clothes with shaking hands.

He dresses himself, trying to regain control of his emotions, emotions that are flaring, whipping about, a wild mix of indignation, and guilt, and despair, and… need.

He comes out of the closet while closing his belt, the irony not lost on him, especially when he looks at the naked form of Lestat on his bed. Lestat, who looks thin still, and forlorn, and whose eyes are dark, stormy, portraying and hiding a pain that Louis is only starting to properly recognize.

He licks his lips and then states, without much heat, all the emotions snuffed out suddenly, like a candle, suppressing the core of their argument. Of a lot of their problems, feeling simply unable to do this now.

He knows the jab will land, is unfair, but he just can’t, needing it out. “You behave like a petulant five year old.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, quickly walking past the bed and out of their bedroom, concentrating on walking down the steps, almost skipping, trying to continue breathing.

There is no answer, no movement in the bedroom above, and Louis pulls open the front door, feverishly wishing for Lestat to burst out, yell at him, to throw things around, to be himself again, like before, for fuck’s sake.

*******

“Daniel?”

There is no answer, and Louis pushes open the door, standing in the doorway for a moment, to literally sniff the air. Take the apartment in, with all of his senses.

It’s been a while since a mortal, since Daniel has been in it.

All the little telltale signs are there, the air is a little stale, there’s the beginning of rot in the garbage, and the drains have begun to smell just a bit, probably only detectable to his vampiric senses. There is no smell of a mortal body breathing and eating and using the bathroom around.

Louis grimaces, pulling out his phone to check the last messages, to check the dates. Three days. Well, he and Lestat were… busy. And then some.

He rubs his face with his free hand, reaches up to glide through his hair, careful not to pull apart the little twisted tufts he has styled it into.

He shakes his head, and then dials Seth’s number, glad when the ancient vampire picks it up after the third ring. “Seth, thank you for taking the call.”

“What can I do for you?” Seth’s rather unhurried response usually makes Louis relax, but right now something spurs him on, makes him nervous.

He presses his lips together before answering. “I… wanted to check if the transfusion has been given already?”

Seth sounds amused. “Should you not ask Fareed?”

Louis grimaces. “Yes, but I thought I could ask you also where you flew him?”

Seth chuckles. “Do you have reason to believe Fareed would not answer this question?”

Louis looks up, blindly at the ceiling, heaving a sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe. Possibly? I thought maybe he would cite Doctor’s confidentiality?”

Seth hums. “Mhhh, I see, well, I think his loyalty is mostly restricted to our side of things these days.” He lightly clicks his tongue. “However, to answer your unstated question, the transfusion was administered, in Amsterdam, yesterday night.”

Louis frowns, narrowing his eyes. “Amsterdam. What is Daniel doing in Amsterdam?”

He can hear Seth shrug. “I do not know. Armand requested the change in location.”

“Armand?” Louis grimaces, closing his eyes to count to ten, voice gruff. “Is there anything else?”

Seth sounds unperturbed by his obvious mood-change. “Nothing I am privy to or care for, Louis.”

Louis kicks the doorframe, lightly, needing to put it somewhere. Right. “I see.” He hesitates, and then pastes a smile on, trying to let it transmit on the call. “Thank you.”

He ends the call, inhaling deeply and then stills, sunken deeply into his own thoughts.

He could take the plane, like he took it here. His crew is used to seemingly erratic instructions, and apparently willful and random destinations.

But he is going after Armand. Who seems to be going after Daniel.

And, holding his ground or not, but Louis is no match for Armand, now that Armand is most certainly not obeying anymore. Not yet. Not without the element of surprise.

But… he knows someone who probably is.

*******

“Non.”

“I need you to take us there.”

“Je ne veux pas.”

“Stop falling back into French, and tell me why.”

“I told you, I don’t want to.”

“Whyyyy?”

“I … Armand is the last person I want to see right now.”

“Well, that goes for me, too, but I still need to.”

“Why?”

“I… I told you, Daniel is important to me. I need him safe.”

“Why does Armand care for this mortal? I know Armand and Armand does not care for mortals.”

“I… there’s history, okay?”

“History.”

“Yeah, he… like Daniel was the mortal I gave my story to the first time.”

“I thought he was the interviewer who wrote the book with you.”

“Yeah well… he is also the one who interviewed me again.”

“I’m confused.... You did not need to sigh that loud.”

“I… I’m sorry. But you need to just… trust me. We can talk about the details later.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then do this for me.”

“No.”

“… Tell me why.... No, no no no, not turning away now. Stay the fuck here and answer me.”

“I was just getting up to get a drink.”

“You were trying to evade the question.”

“Why did you come to me, Louis? Do you not have a jet I believe they call it at your disposal?”

“Yes, but I need you.”

“It is so good to be needed.”

“Ahhh, you drive me up the wall.”

“The other day you could not wait to leave. And now you want us to travel the world together. I think it is normal to find this confusing.”

“The other day we were… this is different.”

“Yes? How.”

“… Do you really want to do this now?”

“… Do you really want us to have another argument at cruising altitude?”

Silence.

Louis stares at Lestat, stumped, not knowing what to say. Not trusting himself to say something either. There is this jolt again, deep within, the jolt that comes with the memory of falling, and then the impact, the sudden…

He gasps, turning away.

Steps away, one step, two steps, three.

The sofa he chose for the parlor is there when his legs give out, the cushions soft as he falls back against them.

He works his jaw, concentrating on breathing, staring blindly at the walls, his words coming from deep within his chest, hiding others he wants to scream. “God, we’re a mess.”

There is a soft snort from where Lestat sits at the piano, where Louis has interrupted him playing, on a real keyboard this time. “We are.”

Louis blinks, shaking his head on the pillow. “I… this is important, Lestat.” He turns his head, leans up, until he can catch Lestat’s gaze across the room over the edge of the sofa. “Can we take an arguing-timeout?” He licks his lips. “Like… I recognize we probably need to hash some things out…” Lestat shoots him a vaguely sardonic look and Louis purposefully rolls his eyes at him, catches the vaguest shimmer of amusement in the blue eyes. “… but can we cut it out for a while? Please?”

Lestat turns his head away, his side profile seeming pensive. His fingers glide over the keys, without pressing them.

His tone is light, belying the sarcastic implications. “Cease-fire for the greater good?”

Louis huffs, and then grins, a bit bitterly, letting the grin color his tone deliberately. “Kinda.” He sobers, slowly, and then sits up, hands on the upholstery left and right of his hips. “I…” He turns his head back, waits until he can catch Lestat’s gaze again.

He speaks slowly, trying to convey all that stays unsaid.“I need to be able to trust you with this.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, with a tang of iron.

Something flickers in Lestat’s gaze. “I… understand.”

Louis swallows, his throat dry. “Do you?”

Lestat frowns, just a bit. “I do.” His gaze returns to the keys, his fingers gliding along them soundlessly once more. His voice sounds a bit faraway. “I hate the cloud gift.”

Louis swallows, and then cackles, lowering his gaze, something within his chest expanding. “Oh yeah, me too.” He looks back up, finds Lestat’s gaze again, finding the common ground in the stormy blue eyes, hesitating before reiterating. “This is important.” And not just for Daniel.

Lestat’s nostrils flare as he inhales, with a roll of his shoulders.

He sighs. “Let’s buy a coat beforehand this time though. It’s so cold up there.”

Louis swallows, offering a brittle little smile. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

*******

“Ready?”

“Yeah, just…”

“What.”

“I feel like dangling from your grip is…”

“You could stand on my feet?”

“Okay. … Now I feel like I’m three years old.”

“Just because we’re still on ground. Wait until we’re up.”

“Right. I’ll just… put my arms into your coat and around your waist then.”

“And I’ll embrace you under your arms.”

“Okay. This is… good.”

“Nice and tight.”

“Lestat?”

“Hmmm?”

“I…”

“I will not let any harm come to you.”

“…okay.”

“I mean it. I have many regrets, and I…”

“Let’s not. Not now. Okay?”

“D’accord.”

“… So, how does… Whoa shit.”

“Yeah, I figured we’d need to rise fast less someone captures us on all the cameras that seem to be everywhere.”

“… This is faster than on a fucking plane.”

“Breathe, Louis, your heart is making mine race.”

“Tryin’.”

“Easy, Louis, shhhh. Breathe. I… Je promets.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Breathe with me. Breathe … There, better.”

“Yeah...”

“… There. Isn’t it beautiful up here?”

“I think I’ll just keep my eyes over your shoulder.”

“The cities sparkle below, the planes are little bugs, fireflies that…”

“Lestat, don’t, please.”

“… Alright.”

“… What.”

“The stars sparkle in your eyes, the glittering shimmer mixing with the emerald green… It makes me want to weep, as eternity has never seemed so close.”

“… I…”

“Your beauty has always enraptured me, but up here it is transcendental.”

“That’s… quite the word.”

“I read it in a dictionary.”

“Oh my g… Did you just wink at me..”

“Stop squirming while laughing, Louis, I don’t want you to fall off.”

“… Thank you for taking away the fear.”

“Glad it worked.”

“Mhhh. Sometimes I am surprised though I do know we know each other well.”

“Knowing the other well means knowing all the spots to wound, too.”

“Yeah…”

“Louis?”

“Mhh?”

“You know, this cease-fire?”

“Yes?”

“We have all eternity to figure this out.”

“… We do.”

“Good.”

“… Lestat?”

“Oui?”

“How long will we travel?”

“Well, we need to follow the sun…”

“Can we make a quick stop in Japan? I’ve never seen the lights from above like this.”

“Anywhere you like.”

*******

“Good evening.”

Louis sits up, a bit disoriented, blinking groggily at the darkening sky. They are on the roof of a building, the sun obviously having set only a short while ago.

He rubs a hand over his face, suppressing a yawn. “Where are we?”

Lestat stretches, the heavy coat falling open, the shirt he wears riding up to expose his midriff. “Amsterdam, on top of the Rembrandt tower.” He points a finger at a building in the distance, illuminated prettily. “Look, there’s the Rijksmuseum.”

Louis yawns again, trying to shake the grogginess off. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe we can break in, I mean visit it later.” He groans, feeling the need to yawn again. “Why am I so tired?”

Lestat smiles, just a bit. “We followed the sun, as I said. That meant that we kept close to the event horizon of it setting, never really resting, for hours.” He shrugs. “I’m tired, too.”

Louis pulls a face, looking up at him. “And I fell asleep I take it.”

Something passes over Lestat’s face, makes him seem vulnerable and young for a moment, bleeding affection. It bleeds across their bond, too, makes Louis feel warm, and fuzzy. “Yes.” He smiles, and then mischievousness enters his features, tickles Louis’ stomach. “Like a baby, drooling onto my shoulder.”

Louis blinks, and then reaches unseeing for a piece of tar paper that’s come off, throwing it at him.

Lestat evades it, laughing softly to himself.

Louis throws him a look, the word carried on a soft laugh of his own. “Ass.”

“Your ass.” Lestat gets up and waggles said ass in front of Louis’ face.

“Oh god.” Louis groans, hiding his face behind his hands, trying to tell himself he’s not laughing, and failing, by a mile.

Lestat grins at him, wide and impertinent.

The feeling between them flares, brightly, hotly, and beautiful.

Louis swallows, unable to breathe, lest the motion of his chest might destroy his heart.

And then Lestat claps his hands, rubbing them, drawing him back to reality. “So. We’re here. What now?”

Louis opens his mouth, and then closes it again, slowly, refocusing, with an effort. “Uhhhhh…”

Lestat narrows his eyes, stilling. “Louis?”

Louis purses his lips, trying to play for time. “Well, I mean, I can try to call him again, right.” He pulls out his phone, a bit dramatically, dialing Daniel’s number, Lestat’s gaze burning into his neck.

It dials, rings, and then disconnects after ten rings.

Louis clears his throat. Fuck. “Damn.” He hesitates, and then looks up, with the fakest smile. “Ideas?”

Lestat glowers at him, and then sighs, deeply. “You said Armand was here?” Louis nods, opening his mouth, but Lestat averts his gaze again, looking over the city. “That means that somewhere here - if they are here - there is a powerful vampiric heart.” A shadow passes over Lestat’s face. “As a … former coven leader Armand… well, he likes to employ those rules, as you know.” He shoots Louis a look, but it is a look that has no heat, just history and awareness attached to it. “So there will likely be no other vampires around.” He averts his gaze again, weighing his head. “So. Single his heartbeat out and we know where to go.” He shrugs. “Or he has already noticed our presence and will come to us.”

Louis, clears his throat, with a frown. “Right.” He hesitates. “Will… you?”

Lestat shoots him a look, this time a calculating one. “You don’t know how?”

Louis tries not to let the annoyance show, but it is there, in his tone. “Well, someone never really taught me much, and someone else tried to subdue me for decades on end, so…” He presses his tongue against his left fang, until it bleeds.

Lestat’s tone is acid, but not directed at Louis. “Right.” He inhales, looking away, his profile in stark contrast against the rising moon. He nods to himself, and then beckons for Louis, his voice soft. “Louis, I… I never taught you because I always found it unnecessary.” He laughs a bit, obviously interpreting Louis’ incredulous look correctly, shrugging. “It’s true. I…” The laughter dies away, and Lestat is serious suddenly, very serious. “I never had a teacher. I learned by chance and circumstance.” He waits until Louis steps closer, and then steps behind him, embracing him from behind, his breath puffing against Louis’ nape. “But we can discuss that later.”

The arms surrounding Louis’ waist squeeze, for just a moment. “For now, let the minds and hearts come to you, open yourself to them.”

Louis frowns, turning his head a bit back. “All of them?”

He can feel Lestat nod. “Yes. It’s a cacophony, a maelstrom, but you will not let them pull you in, you will reach out, sift through them, concentrate on finding the one heartbeat, the one mind. If Armand has not closed his mind we can try to find his thoughts directly, but if he has you need to find the heartbeat.”

Louis frowns.

Lestat squeezes him a bit once more, his voice a whisper. “Trust your mind. I’ll keep your body safe.”

Louis swallows, and then places his hands on Lestat’s, closing his eyes.

The mind gift.

A useful, but uncomfortable gift. A two edged sword, since one needs to open oneself to reach out.

Louis had not been very good at wielding it when he had come to Paris, making him an open book for Armand to read and manipulate as he saw fit. He had not needed to train it in New Orleans, with Lestat’s mind silenced to him and hers… hers had been closed more often than not.

And Louis had not been interested in any mortal’s.

Or if any mortal might have been able to look into his.

He imagines it as dropping a barrier, a wall, gasping when the flood comes, his eyes rolling up into his head.

Reality drops away, with the abyss of screaming minds, wishes, desires, fleeting impressions and thundering hearts.

He cannot think, cannot breathe, his body shaking.

He can feel himself speak, though he cannot hear it: “It’s too much.”

Pain, in his neck, and then Lestat is there, carried on the blood connection, buffeting him, anchoring him. ‘Use me. I’m with you. They are around. Let them ebb, and tide, flow.’

Louis gasps, latching onto him, blindly, instinctively. Their bond throbs, pulses, brings order to chaos. ‘They’re so many.’

‘Yes. But you are only interested in one.’

Louis mouth drops open, the cool air expanding his lungs. ‘Right. I only want Armand.’

‘Yes. You know his mind, his heartbeat.’

‘I do.’ Louis opens his eyes, staring into the sky, Lestat’s teeth in his neck a tether that anchors him in reality. His mind twists, sifting, following impulses of recognition, as impossible to decipher as to explain. It takes an eternity, in the blink of an eye. ‘There.’

Reality slams back into him, takes his breath as Lestat withdraws his teeth, holds him, until he can stand upright by himself again, feeling nauseous and wobbly on his feet.

Louis turns his head to look at him, and then reaches up to pull him close, kiss the little blood that is on his lips off, tasting himself.

He shudders, swallowing harshly. “Thank you.”

Lestat’s eyes are black, rimmed with blue, glowing. “Anytime.”

Louis smiles, just a bit, and then inhales, straightening up.

He points to the northwest. “There. He’s there.” He shakes his head once. “I do not know the address, but I know exactly where…”

He shoots Lestat a look, who shrugs, and grins. “And that’s where we’ll go then.”

Louis nods, stepping up to Lestat without looking. “Hop us down and then we’ll walk a bit?”

Lestat snorts, and then takes him by the waist. “Oh I see, I’m your personal cab driver now?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, with a little grin. “It’s called an uber these days, dear.”

“Oh?” Lestat pulls him in, in a rather precise movement, aligning them. “Is that so.”

Louis licks his lips, more tempted than he cares to admit. “Behave. We need to check on Daniel.”

Lestat pouts. “Spoil-sport.” He sighs, dramatically, and then there’s a rush of air, and they’re down, on a busy street, in the corner between two shops. “But as you wish.”

Louis hums, with a bit of a smirk, and then winks at him. “Be a good boy and we’ll see about later.”

Lestat snorts, and then leans in, the action made serious by the way he says it. “Woof.”

Louis clears his throat, trying to remember how to breathe. “Right.” He puts a hand to Lestat’s face and pushes just lightly, while averting his gaze, grinning when Lestat starts to cackle.

He inhales, trying to bring back some seriousness, pointing. “That way.” He starts walking, feeling Lestat fall into step with him.

He shoots him a look. “You seem in a good mood.”

Lestat shrugs, looking back at him with a bit of a tilt of his head. “I’m with you.”

Louis snorts, softly, but the words grate a bit. “You say that as if there’s no problems we have.”

Lestat inhales. “Of course we have problems, Louis. We have history. But…” He shrugs. “At the end of the day, we are still here. Despite it all.” His voice comes a bit more haltingly. “And I… I think this is good for us.”

Louis nods, slowly, turning a corner. “Yeah. I think so, too.” He hesitates and then adds, drily. “Although all bets are off when we meet Armand.”

Lestat snorts, darkly. “True.”